WAAAGH Ranma!
by rewind gone nuts
Summary: RanmaWarhammer Fantasy crossover. Sorta. Ranma gets sent to the Warhammer Fantasy world and, after one of his usual mixups, finds himself leader of the Fikskull Orc tribe. Who else predicts trouble?
1. Chapter 1

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** Well, the votes are in and WAAAGH Ranma won by a landslide. Hopefully, this will be another successful story- I really don't feel I have the talent to do what it takes with this. As this story progresses, I intend to have two changes come over Ranma:

-Firstly, I intend to have him pick up some various magical items (weapons, armour, talismans etc). The only problem is that I haven't a clue what to give him. Suggestions?

-Secondly, I intend for Ranma to become a "psuedo-Shaman"; learning to tap into the Martial Waaagh –the collective ki/battle aura of fighting Greenskins- and using that for ki techniques of his own creation. I need ideas for this though; possible attacks, their names and their effects. For example: "Mean Green Fighting Machine"- a temporary burst of superhuman (even by Ranma's standards) strength and durability), coupled with the ability to produce short-ranged energy waves.

Chapter 1: Ranma Gets Green

Akane looked down once again at the ornate ring now adorning her left thumb. That weird street vendor who'd given it to her had sworn that it would grant her a single wish, but she had to be careful what she wished for.

"I wish… I wish… now what should I wish for?"

"Akane! Hey Akane, wait up!"

"Ranma…" she growled. She and Ranma had been fighting all day- again. It started this morning, when Ranma refused to eat the breakfast she had begged Kasumi to allow her to make. Then, on the way to school, their argument about her cooking attempts had been interrupted by Shampoo, who Ranma had refused to give the boot despite the fact she landed her bike on his face and then glomped him- the pervert. Couple this with the fact the two had started carrying out a "conversation" via thrown notes which had ended up in her being sent to stand in the hall and hold buckets for disrupting class, and the fact that at lunch Ranma had refused her cooking to go eat Ukyo's, and Akane was furious.

"Go away Ranma! I'm trying to decide what to use this ring on!"

"Come on Akane! You've got the cure to my curse right there in your hands! Wish me back to normal- come on, I'm begging ya!"

Now, this might seem a rather excessive bit of acting on Ranma's part, but let's not forget that this is the guy who actually went on a date with Tatewaki "Blue Blunder" Kuno in his girl-form to try and get a cure. If the choice was between his dignity and a cure, dignity would lose every time. Of course, the choice between a cure to his curse and protecting the innocent was a much harder choice. He was on Akane –not literally- from all sides, cajoling and pleading to the best of his ability (which, it has to be said, wasn't that great) to persuade her to use her wish to remove Jusenkyo's influence from him, unaware as always that he was trying to quench a fire with gasoline. The more he talked, the madder Akane got, and the madder she got, the more he talked until finally Akane's limited control snapped.

"I wish you'd just GO AWAY!" She screamed, and lashed out with her left hand to deliver a resounding slap to the cheek. Unfortunately for both of them, she failed to notice that the jewel in the ring on her thumb had begun to glow with a brilliant, blinding light until, at the exact moment she hit Ranma, it flashed with a sudden blinding explosion of brilliance. When Akane could see again, Ranma was gone and a quick glance at her thumb revealed that the once-gleaming jewel was now dead and cold. As she took in the empty street, a single word slipped from her lips, embodying Akane's reaction to perhaps the greatest mistake she had ever made in her life.

"Oops."

Ranma had no idea where he was and very little idea about what had just happened. Though he had definitely felt Akane's hand contact with his cheek, the pain that would have normally breached even his spectacular resilience to physical damage had been non-existent. Instead, he'd been blinded by a spectacular flash of light and now he found himself tumbling literally head over heels through an infinite void of swirling colours, accompanied by an unpleasant feeling of weightlessness. Slowly he found himself stop spinning until he was facing forwards- as much as that term could be applied to this place. The swirling of the colours suddenly became more violent in their motion, until Ranma had to shut his eyes for fear of losing his lunch. When he opened them again, he found himself drifting through a vastly different place.

Below him, an ocean of crimson stormed and raged, great frothy waves rising and falling in violent masses. Completely out of his conscious control, Ranma felt himself flying downwards towards the red fluid, close enough that one particularly violent wave sent a shower of spray that caught him. He unconsciously licked his lips, grimaced and spat- the fluid below him was blood. Onwards he flew above the ocean of blood, until he spotted what looked like small patches of land- though a closer look revealed these to be small islands of human –and inhuman- skulls, floating in the crimson fluid.

As he flew onwards, these grew not only more frequent in number, but also larger in size. As he neared the largest island yet, so large he couldn't see the other side and rising into an equally impressive mountain, a massive roar split the air, so loud and deep Ranma felt it in his very bones more than he heard it. A quick examination revealed the source; perched upon the very pinnacle of the mountain of skulls, was a throne of bronze the size of a small city and high as an ordinary mountain, decorated with numerous engravings of skulls, weapons and scenes of carnage. But it was the sight of what was seated upon the throne that made Ranma's breath catch in his throat.

It was a towering creature; of such size it dwarfed the throne that was evidentially its perch, in form akin to a heavily muscled man clad in blood-splattered armour of bronze and black steel, with the head of some terrible beast- vaguely wolf-like, with a plethora of sharpened horns. In its hands it clutched a gory brass greataxe that could have split a mountain in half. It raised this terrible weapon into the air and shook it as it voiced another thunderous roar, and brave as Ranma was even he quailed before the sheer rage and hate in the monster's voice. Compared to this thing, Ryoga's grievance with him was nothing, the fury of Mousse as meaningless as the wrath of a flea. And much to his horror, he felt himself rocketing upwards uncontrollably until he was roughly on eye level with the beast. Fortunately he both eluded the creature's notice –it was staring at the blade of its axe with great intensity- and continued rocketing upwards until the scene below him faded from view. Then, in a state where he still had momentum but no direction, he found himself viewing a new vista.

Below him stretched a great forest, spreading out in all directions towards the horizon. As he drifted through the trees, he held back the urge to vomit in disgust at what he discovered. The trees, the skies, the very earth was rotting- great openings like infected sores speckled the trees, with viscous slime and obscene parasites spilling forth. Similar wells of foulness emerged here and there in the ground, and Ranma winced as he zipped past one such pool of pus and bile just before it erupted in a noxious geyser. Hideously diseased beasts wandered through the forest, in a variety of forms that Ranma had never even seen before.

Soon, he was before another giant throne, this one even bigger than the one before had been and forged from rusty, pitted iron. It was caked in slime and foulness, the corruption welling from deep within and spilling down its sides. Ranma's attention however was firmly fixated on the occupant of this throne. It was perhaps larger than the last abomination, though it looked less warlike. It was essentially human, though its form was hideously swollen and deformed with the visible symptoms of every disease Ranma knew existed, and quite a few he didn't. Its leathery green flesh writhed with maggots and dripped with pus and blood, and it was all Ranma could do to keep from vomiting as the stench of decaying flesh and putrescence washed over him like a sudden wave of putrid water.

Thankfully, he was carried past the creature without it noticing, and yet again the vista below changed as he flew onwards. Now he was in some immense hall, drifting through great clouds of coloured and strangely scented smoke. Not that the smells were unpleasant like before- in fact the odours vaguely reminded him of a massive garden, filled with thousands of different flowers and with each and every single one in full bloom. Compared to just before, it was quite a welcome change. From below wafted a strange sound- of chorus of pleased moaning and ecstatic sighs, punctuated by the occasional nerve-racking scream.

The throne this time was built from jade, gold, silver and precious stones- a truly worthy example of the name. Reclining casually in it, clutching a massive sceptre of jade, was a giant figure who –to Ranma's shock- resembled in every detail bar two a perfect blending of the forms of Shampoo, Ukyo, Nabiki, Akane, Kodachi and Kasumi. The first difference was that it had two pairs of short, curving horns growing through its long, luxuriant hair. The second was that it seemed to have a bust size equivalent to that of the six girls combined. Despite his normal resistance to feminine charms, Ranma couldn't help staring at the creature until well after it had disappeared from view.

The fourth vista was, in a word, chaotic. Great swirling semi-fluid masses of flame in all the colours of the rainbow drifted through the air at various speeds, metallic-hued rainbow bolts of electricity arced and surged from place to place- sometimes striking downwards, sometimes striking to the side, sometimes striking upwards and great monoliths of carved rocks drifted silently through the infinite void. For some strange reason though, Ranma felt strangely comfortable here.

The throne this time wasn't a throne as such, more an immense pillar of stone rising up from the infinitely vast depths below. Perched upon it in a pose reminiscent of a meditating Yogi was a great spindly creature, surrounded by a coruscating aura of colours. Ranma drifted past it nonchalantly- after all, none of the others had noticed him, only to swallow as one immense eye suddenly sprang open, fixing its inscrutable gaze upon him. Ranma felt a strange swell of alien emotions in his mind, evidentially emanating from the creature before him, of which the one emotion he most recognized was something akin to amusement. The creature waved a spindly claw, and Ranma suddenly felt himself seized in an iron grip and rocketing away from the creature.

Faster and faster he flew, over more and more alien vistas. He saw forests where plants, animals and minerals merged and mated with each other and great fortresses that dwarfed Tokyo in size besieged by armies of hideous mutants. He saw bizarre creatures fighting each other savagely upon mountaintops in the midst of furious lightning storms and mountains composed entirely of crystal. Over lakes of fire and ice he flew, past armies of strange animal-men and over plains where baroque castles drifted across the grass.

As he travelled, the landscapes actually become slightly more normal, until he was travelling over a vast icy tundra, where the creatures he had seen before warred with fur-wearing men and women on horseback. Over mountains and deep forests he flew, past a city where men in brilliant armour rode steeds that bore the wings of great white eagles. A massive mountain came into view, a mighty fortress of a city perched upon its level top- all of it scarred and battered, as though it had only recently been freed from a siege. All of this and more passed below Ranma's eyes as he finally felt himself starting to go less forward and more downward; he was starting to land.

"Waaagh! Who'z next? Cummon! I'll take ya all on! I'z da leader of dis tribe, and I challenge anyone who wantz ta fight!"

Big Boss Gragtar Fikskull, leader of the Fikskull Orcs, roared again and brandished his two-handed choppa in challenge. As the previous challenger crawled away whilst the boss's attention was occupied, Gragtar glowered at the other Orcs and snorted disdainfully.

"Ain't dere anyone whut's got da guts ta face me? Cummon! I dare ya! I'll fight anyone who finks dey're tough enough ta face me!"

"Aaagh!"

The Orcs started in surprise as the sound of someone screaming in what –to them- sounded like a battlecry suddenly filled the air and they looked around eagerly to see who the next fighter would be. Gragtar, on a whim, looked upwards and was thus the first to notice the streaking blur coming through the sky and heading straight towards him. A clumsy but powerful leap carried him backwards as, with an enormous crash, the flying thing landed mere inches before where he had been standing before, digging a deep crater in the ground with the force of its impact. As the Orcs blinked incredulously, a runty human in weird looking –even by humie standards- clothing slowly rose from the crater, pausing only to spit out a mouthful of rocks and dirt.

"Not one of my better landings. Where am I anyway?"

"Waaagh!"

Gragtar had no idea who this humie was, where he'd come from or how he'd gotten here. Well, how he'd ended up flying through the air and surviving the worst crashlanding he'd seen since that incident with the drunken Doom Divers anyway. More to the point, he didn't care. A human in Orc country was just asking for a fight- and Gragtar was just the Orc to oblige. Shouting the battlecry of all Greenskins, he gripped his choppa in both hands and swung it in an over-head arc that would split the humie in two. At least, that was the plan. What happened was that the human simply twisted his body so that the blow whistled past him harmlessly. At least it caught the humie's attention; he casually twisted around to face the incredulous Orc Big Boss.

"What was that for?"

"Whutcha mean? Yer da wun whut challenged me!"

"Challenged you? I didn't do nothing!"

"Enuff talk! Fight!"

Gragtar roared and swung his choppa sideways, aiming to cut the weird humie in half at the waist. The mob bayed with bloodthirsty eagerness, then stopped dead as the humie caught Gragtar's choppa with a single hand, stopping it dead without the slightest sign of strain. Gragtar snarled and tried to tug it loose for another swing- he may as well have been trying to haul Morrslieb down from the sky for all the good he did.

"Leggo! Zoggin' humie!"

"Only if you promise to stop swinging it around like that- you could hurt someone with this thing you know."

"I'll hurt ya awright! I'll split ya in two!"

"Fine, you want to fight, then here I come!"

Still holding onto the choppa with one hand, the humie suddenly spun around and lashed out in a sideways kick that smashed into Gragtar's head, roughly where his ear was, and sent him flying backwards with such force that he hit a nearby boulder and smashed several cracks in it before falling to the ground. The humie smirked and flicked his nose with his thumb while bringing the choppa to rest against his body. When Gragtar failed to do more than lie there and groan, an outburst erupted from the Orcs.

"He beat da boss!"

"Took 'im down wid wun kick!"

"Ya know whut dat means?"

"No, whut?"

"It means dat Gragtar ain't da boss no more!"

"So who's da boss now?"

"Whoever gives dat humie a good kickin', dat's who! Geddim!"

Ranma didn't have the faintest clue what had just happened or where he was, but he understood what was about to happen all too clearly. He took up a fighting position, still unconsciously holding the crude greataxe he'd took from his beaten opponent, and mentally prepared himself as thirteen of the strange green creatures charged him. As he dodged blows that could best be described charitably as crude but enthusiastic –rather like Akane he couldn't help thinking- and retaliated with powerful punches and kicks of his own, he noticed that each of the creatures fighting him was larger than the ones that were standing around and cheering. None of them were as large as the one he had fought first though.

Contemplative mood over, Ranma resumed devoting his entire attention to the fight- he'd been trained since birth to do this sort of thing and he wasn't about to lose. Especially seeing as how the other guys were wielding weapons. An axe-kick to the jaw sent one green-skinned creature flying out of the melee, several busted tusks dribbling from its lips with a faint spray of blood. He sidestepped one opponent that tried to brain him and retaliated by swinging the greataxe so that the blunt end whipped up with crushing force between his enemy's legs. While his enemy was stunned he then whipped the blunt end around and brought it smashing down on the back of his stunned opponent's head.

A one-handed Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken to the ribcage took another out of the fight. He twirled the greataxe and sent it flying towards another beast, smashing it unconscious but disarming himself in the process. Of course, that actually meant he was more dangerous now. When two of the hulking brutes dove at him from opposite directions he grabbed them by the fronts of their shirts, ducked and heaved in a single movement, resulting in them smashing heads together with enough force to knock them both unconscious. The few opponents remaining didn't last much longer, and soon all thirteen of them were piled in an unconscious heap at Ranma's feet. He dusted his hands off with a smirk and made a "come on" gesture towards the creatures, which had fallen into silence from shock.

"Alright, who's next? Come on, I'm just getting warmed up! Who else wants to fight me?"

There was a general chorus of sounds along the lines of "nu-uh" before an unseen creature spoke up from somewhere in the crowd.

"Ain't got no arguments from us boss. We getcha."

"Huh? Why did you just call me boss?"

"It'z da law." Croaked a gravely voice. The creatures literally jumped in sudden fright, falling over themselves to clear a path as a particularly old and wizen creature stepped forwards. It carried a staff made from bones bound together with sinews, and sinew streamers dangled from the top, bearing a variety of bones, fangs, pebbles and other such knick-knacks. It wore the pelt of a boar as a sort of crude helmet. It stepped right up to Ranma and rattled its staff dramatically before wheezing out a series of words.

"Da old boss is beaten. All da uvver challengers 'ave also been beaten. Dat makes you da new boss. All hail Big Boss… uh, whut's yer name?"

"Ranma."

"All hail Ranma, new Big Boss of da Fikskull Orcs! Waaagh!"

"WAAAGH!"

'What have I gotten myself into now…?'

_Okay, first chapter up- hope it didn't suck too badly. Review please! I'll only continue if you're interested, and I'll only know if you're interested if you review! Warhammer fans: any guesses as to who the four "creatures" Ranma saw on his journey were?_

_For non-Warhammer fans, I'll try to explain the more "setting specific" stuff I may mention at the end of each chapter. If there's anything I missed, just review and let me know._

_Morrslieb- the second of the two moons of the Warhammer world, smaller than the primary; Mannslieb. Morrslieb is a dark moon, shedding little light, and is associated with death and madness. It is said to be formed entirely from Warpstone, a powerful corruptive mineral composed of solidified magic._

_Doom Divers: the crew/ammunition of a Goblin warmachine- half catapult, half giant slingshot. Doom Divers are Goblins that strap on a set of crude parasail "wings" and a pointy metal helmet then let themselves be shot out of the Doom Diver as kamikaze living missiles._


	2. Chapter 2

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** (emerges from bunker and wipes flame-retardant foam off face) Well, that chapter went down much, much better than anticipated. Just one question; Daert, what did you mean by your review? Also, zero0x3000, this is set in the Warhammer Fantasy universe- the Chaos Gods do exist there as well, and that's how Ranma could visit those four "afterlifes". For those who mentioned that Ranma just isn't Ranma without a hoard of women out for his hand- I thoroughly agree with you, so consider ideas for potential "brides" to be officially added to my wish list for reviews (along with magical items and new techniques for Ranma to acquire as he treads the path of Warboss). TerraBull, I can't follow the first paragraph of your review- what were you saying?

Chapter 2: Welcome to Your New Life

The echoes of the battlecry died down and the greenskinned mob stared at Ranma, who stared blankly back. He quickly pulled himself together; as odd as this may be even by his standards, Ranma was still very hard to keep off-balance for long. He gestured, first towards the general mob, then towards the wrinkly creature with the big staff. He kinda reminded him of Cologne.

"Okay, nothing to see here now-"

Ranma's words were proved a falsehood as the first creature he had felled –Gragtar, he believed one of the crowd had called it- suddenly rose to its feet and charged him with a roar. With the casual ease of long practise, Ranma stepped slightly to the side and stuck out his left arm to catch the front of the creature's clothing, using its momentum to launch it seemingly effortlessly into the air. To the appreciative awe of his audience, Gragtar flew through the air in an arc that easily cleared old 'n' wrinkly's head before landing in a bellyflop upon the ground.

Knowing he was showing off, but unable to resist it, Ranma casually backflipped through the air to land with pinpoint accuracy beside the still-unconscious creature he had knocked out with the thrown greataxe. As Gragtar hauled himself to his feet with a snarl, Ranma casually flipped the greataxe's handle up with his foot and grabbed it with his hand.

"Get lost! And take this with you!"

He casually sent it spinning towards Gragtar, catching him a solid blow in the gut and doubling him over. Gragtar barely managed to catch it, but he did so, and glowered at Ranma as he gave it an experimental heft. And that was when old 'n' wrinkly belted him over the head with his staff, a move that made Ranma suddenly think of Cologne.

"Enuff. Yer beaten, which means dere ain't no place in dis tribe fer ya any more. So get!"

Gragtar glowered at old 'n' wrinkly and hefted his greataxe menacingly, but the old creature simply met his gaze levelly and the hulking brute gave a disdainful snort and turned and began walking down the path through the crowd, never so much as glancing aside. Ranma walked to stand beside the elderly creature as, their former chieftain officially gone, the other creatures returned their attention to him

"Alright, you can all return to your normal duties now…"

This brought up a chorus of "huh?" and "whut he say?" from the gathered creatures. Ranma felt a trickle of sweat run down the back of his neck.

"_Okay, so I gotta dumb it down… _you lot get back to whatever you were doing before! And you, shrivelled old bag of mushrooms, you come with me!"

WHOCK

'Hey, he even hits like the old ghoul.'

In Nerima's famous Cat Café, Cologne sneezed suddenly and rubbed her nose with an index finger.

"Less o' dat lip ya liddle bugga. I'z Gitzduffd da Weird, and I'z da Shaman a' dis tribe."

"Whatever, just come with me."

"You da boss."

The other creatures having dispersed, a few remaining behind with Ranma's still-unconscious attackers– when Ranma turned to look they were cautiously picking the pockets of their respective targets. Ranma walked with the Shaman through the tribe's home. It wasn't much really; a large clearing surrounded on all sides by forest, with a couple of scattered boulders. A few of the creatures had constructed crude tents from badly-tanned skins and sticks, while most simply lounged on filthy animals skins scattered around a large central fire. It wasn't exactly burning, more being kept alight by the occasional greenskin (as Ranma had started thinking of them). Ranma led the Shaman to the relative cover behind one of the boulders then sat down, gesturing at Gitzduffd to do the same. The ancient Shaman happily complied, seating himself gingerly as bones popped and cracked loudly.

"Now, I need answers…"

It was later, maybe around an hour later, and Ranma sat back on his haunches as he tried to assimilate all the answers he'd been given. The creatures were called Orcs, the biggest –and by their society's reckoning, the best- of a race called Greenskins and which also included Goblins and Snotlings. Orc society revolved around fighting; the better the fighter you were, the higher your place in society. As the best fighter, Ranma was king of the hill- quite literally, as the Fikskulls tribe was situated "somewhere" in the Middle Mountains.

Exactly where they were –and where the mountains were- was something the Orc Shaman had been unable to explain; maps weren't his strong point. The Fikskulls had originally lived down in the Forest of Shadows, but thanks to the inept leadership of Gragtar most of their tribe members had been slaughtered and, as the tribe grew weaker, they'd been forced up into the mountains. When Ranma had "dropped in", Gragtar had been just about finished his "morale talk"; beating up those who could possibly challenge him in an attempt to bully the remaining Fikskulls to sticking around under his leadership.

Gitzduffd had apparently foreseen Ranma's coming in a prophetic dream the night before, and that was how he'd appeared on the scene at just the right moment. Ranma was lucky that he'd intervened when Gragtar had regained consciousness, otherwise the former Big Boss wouldn't have relented until he or Ranma was dead. Ranma hadn't exactly taken it well when Gitzduffd told him that, from now on, he would generally be expected to kill his enemies.

"No way! I'm a martial artist! That means I don't kill!"

"Tuff. Ya ain't got a choice 'ere. Ya fight an' ya kill, or yer dead. Simple as dat. Onna is all well an' good, but it's worthless ta da dedd. Huh-huh, only onna yer going find 'ere is meat onna stick."

Ranma had wanted to protest, but couldn't think of anything to say. With no further questions, Gitzduffd had wandered off to do… whatever it was that Orc Shamans did. Come to think of it, what was there to do here anyway? Ranma was getting bored. Maybe he should do a little training- yeah, that always helped him clear his thoughts. Of course, whenever things were dull, the good old Saotome Luck kicked in full-force; Ranma was barely beginning his second kata when the sounds of screams and battlecries reached his ears.

"We'z unda attack!"

"Stupid zoggin' Fikskulls! Da Lugghedd's is da best tribe 'round here! Waaagh!"

Ranma leapt over the boulder in a heartbeat- he may have only been Big Boss for about an hour, but that didn't mean he was going to let his boyz –the term the Shaman had used for his tribe members- get slaughtered. Not without making an effort to keep them alive. The scene was pandemonium as the Orcs of the Fikskull tribe battled against, as far as Ranma could tell, two-to-one odds as the Orcs of the Lugghedd tribe charged out of the forest.

Gitzduffd da Weird swung his shaman-staff with the familiarity of long practise, delivering powerful bone-cracking blows to the four Lugghedds surrounding him. Ranma soared over the Shaman's head in a powerful flying kick that landed a rib-shattering blow on the chest of one Lugghedd as he flipped himself to his feet.

"Come on, if ya think yer hard enough!" he spat at the remaining three rival Orcs, who instantly shook off their shock to attack the humie interloper. One lunged from behind, only to meet a savage elbow jab to the throat followed by a spiralling axe-kick to the face that knocked it cold. Ranma backflipped over a second attacker and, the moment the Orc spun to face him, gave it a vicious right uppercut to the jaw, snapping its head back and in all probability breaking its jaw. Ranma spun in a low kick that knocked the fourth Lugghedd to the ground and pounced on it.

"Where's yer boss?"

The confused Orc pointed in the appropriate direction, whereupon Ranma punched it unconscious with a nose-breaking right hook. He leapt off the body and into the general fray as Gitzduffd stared in no small admiration. The fighting was truly vicious now; the Lugghedd's might have had the greater numbers, but each Fikskull was a hardened, battle-scarred survivor of numerous bloody battles, which meant they were truly holding their own. The sight of their new Big Boss ploughing into the enemy, coupled with the confusion his appearance generated, stoked them to still greater efforts and the Lugghedd's began to lose ground.

Big Boss Chogall swung his viciously spiked greatclub, felling two Fikskulls with a single blow, and voiced a thunderous bellow to rally his boyz to the fight- they were starting to slack off, and a few had even turned tail and run after losing their own fights. He snarled under his breath- when he found those cowards, they'd regret running off. He blinked as a humie suddenly leapt onto the top of a boulder and began yelling over the clamour of battle.

"Lugghedd Big Boss! I'm calling you out! If ya think yer hard enough, come and fight with me! Big Boss Ranma of the Fikskulls is challenging you!"

Chogall stared incredulously- this humie was the Big Boss of the Fikskulls? And he was calling out Chogall, the biggest, toughest, strongest, meanest, bestest Orc Big Boss for several miles around? His incredulity was quickly swallowed by rage as the humie kept on calling.

"Coward! Weakling! Runt! Yellow-bellied chicken! Come on out and fight you sneaky gutless wimp! Yer mother was a Goblin! No, all you Lugghedd's, yer mothers were all overfed Snotling!"

If this had been a cartoon, there would have been the squeaking sound of someone pulling a gramophone needle off its record in mid-play as the entire battle came to a halt in a single instant. It was almost like something out of a comic, Orcs of both sides stopping mid-swing to turn their attention to the humie now making a variety of undoubtedly obscene –well, insulting at least– gestures. Then, with barely a rumble of warning, the battlecry erupted from dozens of throats in perfect synchronisation.

"WHUT YOU SAY ABOUT OUR MOMMAS!"

Ranma laughed with delight; each and every Lugghedd Orc was practically glowing with battle aura, their ki so hot you could have used it to fry an egg. Speaking eggs, he was feeling kinda hungry… he quickly snapped back to reality as the entire Lugghedd tribe began abandoning their previous opponents to charge at him, one particularly massive specimen quickly smashing his way to the forefront with an equally massive cudgel. He leapt off the boulder in a graceful arc and darted across the open ground in hops and bounds; he wanted to stay out of their reach, but he also needed to lure them in to what he was planning, so he had to give them at least the illusion of a chance to strike at him.

"Zoggit! Stan' still ya stinkin' humie! I'z gonna smash ya flat!" Chogall roared as he swung at the hopping humie. Each blow missed, and that made him madder. The fact that the humie, though he had stopped taunting them, still didn't look the least bit afraid, made him madder still. Suddenly, the humie stopped dead and a malevolent grin spread over Chogall's face; this was gonna be messy…

"HIRYU SHOTEN HA!"

The explosion shook the mountain and as one the Fikskulls covered their eyes and cowered from the terrible flash of light. Orcs -alive and wounded or dead and in pieces- rained from the sky, the impact killing the weakest. From his position in the very center of the crater, Ranma blinked -he hadn't expected his Hiryu Shoten Ha to have that much power- then leapt aside as Chogall's greatclub almost nailed him. The Orc had been so close to Ranma that he'd somehow avoid being swept up in the winds of the Heavenly Dragon's Ascension, but the swirling vortex of energy and fragments of metal, rock and wood had still severely mangled him. One eye was gone, as was half of one hand, and great rents and gashes in his armour gushed with thick Orc blood.

He voiced a gurgling, choked roar and swung at Ranma once, twice, thrice, and each time he missed. One the fourth stroke, however, Ranma's foot slipped in a puddle of blood and he fell and landed on his rear. Chogall loomed above him, greatclub held backwards over his head in preparation for a skull-crushing blow, while Ranma's questing hands found the hilt of a crude sword.

Muttering a silent prayer to the effect that Chogall's spirit would forgive him, his hand closed on the hilt and he shot forward, bringing the blade around to bury itself to the crossguard in Chogall's heart. The Orc tried to roar, or scream perhaps, but nothing came from its mouth. His head moved so that his eyes met Ranma's, the human's eyes wide but blank. Then Chogall's eyes closed and his last breath escaped with a faint sigh, the greatclub spilling from his dead fingers as Ranma twisted the sword free and sidestepped to let the massive body slump to the ground. Choking down the horror and guilt that was besieging him, knowing he had to do this next part, Ranma pushed his hand into the stab-wound he had inflicted and withdrew it caked in blood. He smeared it upon his face and then turned to address the staring, silent survivors of the Lugghedd tribe.

"Lugghedds! Your Big Boss is dead, your tribe is shattered! Either swear to serve me, or perish here with him! Well, what's it to be? Who's yer boss now?"

"Ranma! Ranma! Ranma leads da Lugghedd tribe now! Waaagh!"

"Waaagh!" cried the Fikskulls, raising their weapons and waving them in eager of their Big Boss- already he'd proven himself more capable than Gragtar, dominating a second tribe and thus swelling the ranks of the first. With the Lugghedds joined with the Fikskulls, the two tribes were now one and thus life would be easier. As the Orcs of the Lugghedd tribe began to join in the chanted cheering, Ranma felt a strange sense of pride and joy began welling up inside him, until he let it out in the method his boyz had shown him.

"WAAAGH!"

_Okay, now, I normally wouldn't have brought this chapter up until maybe a week later- see the stimulation reviews cause me? I apologise in advance for the fight sequence; battle scenes are not my greatest point and at least I can admit that. Anyway, keep reviewing and the next chapter could be up in a day!_


	3. Chapter 3

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** ah, how I revel in pleased reviews- it lets me know I've done my job well. Well, AscendedWarrior doesn't seem to like it, but ya can't please everyone, now can you? Those who asked me where I'm going with this; I intend the next couple of chapters to be about Ranma A: getting acclimatised to life amongst the Orcs and B: gathering troops for a full-scale Waaagh! After that, I'm unsure- though I know I intend to have him use his army. What's the point of having it otherwise? Care to suggest possible "targets" for him to set his sights on? For example: a castle occupied by a warrior-cabal of Blood Dragons and their minions, or ambushing a Skaven army before it launches an assault upon a human village. Also, TerraBull, what did the PS from your review mean?

Erich Manstein, I meant to ask in the previous chapter; who's Hellbrandt Grimm? Also, the Middle Mountains are in the north of the Empire- while Bretonnia isn't too far away, he's got a long hard slog southwards to reach the Border Princes and Tilea. And yes, this is set post-Storm of Chaos. Don't worry; Ranma isn't going to "go Orc". A little more belligerent, perhaps, losing his qualms about killing obviously but other than adopting some Orc speech habits (boyz etc) no real changes are anticipated.

Just a note; I know the Hiryu Shoten Ha creates a whirlwind and not an energy blast. I actually intended to put in some "in-character notes" that Ranma had, unwittingly, mixed a little Aqshy into the attack. I forgot to put them in though, but still kept the explosion by accident. Just chalk it down to how much Orc ki the technique was using- and, in the anime, when Cologne first reveals this technique there is a blinding flash and an explosion when it's launched.

Chapter 3: First Blood

It was well into the night and the merged tribes of Fikskull and Lugghedd raucously danced and celebrated around the main fire in the former tribe-holdings of the Lugghedd tribe. Once the fighting was over, they had stripped the fallen of their possessions and, under the direction of Ranma, had moved out to the territory the Lugghedds had controlled. The former home of the Lugghedds turned out to be a deep cave, with well-placed boulders that formed a natural defensive wall around the opening.

Ranma was pleased that the two tribes had taken so well to each other; he'd been afraid that the two forces would continue to squabble and bicker and that he'd have to separate them. Instead, the two tribes were mingling as though they'd always been friends- something that had amazed Ranma until Gitzduffd had told him that was the way of Orcs; they rarely held grudges about the results of a fight. He'd been far less pleased when he'd discovered the reason why the Orcs had brought along the casualties from both sides off the battlefield. As it turned out, Orcs didn't bury their dead. Nor did they, as he had initially believed, cremate them.

Orcs ate their dead. A fact Ranma would have found unpleasant even if he hadn't discovered it after he'd already eaten his fill of roasted Orc flesh. It had taken all his willpower to keep from either A: screaming, B: vomiting, or C: A and B. As the festivities continued, Ranma had withdrawn into the cave- one of the privileges of being Big Boss was that he got first dibs on everything and got the best of everything; the comfiest sleeping spot, the pick of the looted treasure, the tastiest food, all that sort of thing.

Personally though, Ranma thought the Orcs needed a little work on the "tastiest food" part; they were nowhere near as bad as Akane at cooking, but the meat they'd served to him would have been sickening even if it hadn't been Orc- it was charred black on the outside and blood-dripping raw on the inside. As it turned out, this was lousy cooking even by Orc standards- the other Orcs had all been for butchering the cooks and throwing them on the fire as replacement food. Ranma had stopped them- as much as he agreed that the Orcs responsible would have deserved it, he didn't have enough boyz that he could afford to just waste lives like that.

That didn't mean they'd gotten off scot-free though. Ranma had made a decree that they would do a better job next time, or he would personally punish them. Here he'd repeated some "exercises" Kodachi had invited him to join in the other day. He had no idea what they were actually supposed to do, but they sounded painful. The Orcs seemed to think so too; the Orc chefs had paled by the time he was finished. Well, paled as much as a creature with green skin can pale. Currently, Ranma was lounging on a mess of pelts thrown clumsily over a near-flat rock slab as Gitzduffd wandered up to him, idly chewing on a charred arm bone.

"What's up?"

"Nuffin. Just wanted ta say ya handled yaself purty damn good fer a first day onna job. I say yer gonna do great fings in da future."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I just wish I felt as confident."

Gitzduffd shrugged, then winced in pain as his shoulders audibly popped. Ranma lifted an eyebrow.

"That sounds painful."

"Me bones are all gippy… dat's da price a' bein' an old Orc I guess."

"I think I may have a way to help you." Ranma said, rasing from his slab. "Come here and lie down on your front."

"Boss?"

"Just do it and trust me; I know what I'm doing."

The elderly Shaman did as he was told with obvious reluctance- what he was doing was letting his guard down, and even for an individual as respected and feared as he was that could be fatal in Orc society. Within seconds though, he was beyond caring, groaning softly in pleasure –albeit with a faint tinge of pain– as Ranma subjected him to a shiatsu massage. Though far from an expert in the healing side of martial arts, Ranma had picked up a few techniques here and there; firstly from his father, who used to depend on them to patch the two of them when something went disastrously wrong during their training trips, then some more from Dr. Tofu.

As his fingers industriously probed and massaged the tough green leathery flesh, Ranma could only marvel at the story they sent back to him. There were bones that had been less broken and more shattered, many of which hadn't healed together right, and ligaments that had been stretched out of shape. Sinews that had snapped and then reknitted, once-ruptured organs and blocked veins all revealed themselves to Ranma's examination and as they did his respect for the elderly Orc grew; he was one tough old-timer. Finally, he exhausted his limited arsenal of techniques -well, the ones that didn't need herbal accompaniments anyway- and tapped Gitzduffd on the back of the head.

"Well, I'm afraid that's all I can do. You can get up now. How do you feel?"

"Better. Best I'z felt inna long time. Dat's some powerful healing magic ya got dere."

"It ain't magic- anyone can do it. I never really had the chance to learn everything though."

"Still, ya helped me out. Thanks."

"Any time. You take this slab; you need something for yer back. I'm gonna get some sleep myself."

Pausing only to pull a relatively clean bearskin from the pile to cover himself, Ranma headed toward a nearby alcove and laid himself down to sleep.

The next day was, surprisingly, rather dull. Nothing happened, other than a dozen or so minor squabbles that, as usual with Orcs, quickly erupted into full-scale brawls. Having been warned about this by Gitzduffd, Ranma didn't bother to intervene until and unless it looked like the entire tribe was about to get involved. Then he put it down. Hard. The only really interesting thing that happened occurred after lunch, a barely palatable roast bear, and Ranma began performing katas out of boredom.

"Boss? Whutcha doin'?"

"Practising." Ranma replied in an even, distracted voice. The Orc rubbed his head in a puzzled manner before speaking.

"Practisin' fer whut?"

"To fight of course." Ranma replied again, in the same manner as before. The Orc looked at him strangely and then spoke in a tone of voice that could be considered equivalent to that humans used when talking to children or the mad.

"Uh, Boss… dere's nobody dere. You ain't fightin' nowun."

"Not right now, no, but this is training. I practise like this, I get better, which gives me an edge in the next fight."

"Who'z challenged ya?" the Orc asked out of curiosity; if there was one thing almost as exciting as a fight, it was watching a fight, and the Big Boss was the bestest fighter he'd ever seen.

"Nobody yet. But someone will, sooner or later. There's always another fight. Remember that."

The Orc nodded; that philosophy (for lack of a better word) made sense to him. He watched silently as the boss punched and kicked at empty air with blistering speed. There was a strangely rhythmic edge to it, a sort of pattern that drew him in, leaving him spellbound until the boss suddenly stopped and spoke to him.

"Care to join me?"

"Huh?"

"I was asking if you wanted to practise with me."

"I dunno how ta do dose fings ya do."

"I'll teach you. Come on, whatcha got ta lose? Besides, beats just sitting around all day, doesn't it?"

The Orc nodded in agreement and started walking closer to Ranma, only to be stopped by a hand gesture.

"First, lose the armour. And the blade."

"S' called a choppa." He grunted, but did as he was told, dumping the weapon carelessly on the ground and then struggling out of the random assortment of crudely forged metal lumps that were his armour. Once he was down to his clothes, Ranma gestured to a spot beside him and indicated that he should stand there.

"Okay now, uh… what is your name?"

"I'm Ratgutt, boss."

"Okay then, Ratgutt, I want you to copy what I do. Can you handle that?"

Ratgutt grunted his assent. Ranma nodded in return and slipped into a beginner's stance, which Ratgutt clumsily mimicked.

"I need you to do exactly what I'm doing Ratgutt, so work with me here. Straighten those shoulders- yes, that's it. Now, your legs are bowed -straighten them- and your feet are too close together, move them apart a little. Little more… perfect. Now raise your arms and hold them like this…bring your left hand in closer towards your chest a little…"

"Dis feels stoopid."

"Don't feel, don't think, just do. Ignore all outside distractions. Focus solely on my voice, and the actions of your own body."

Ranma and Ratgutt trained together throughout the rest of the day, stopping only when it was time for the evening meal. Ranma grinned at the puffing Orc as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"That went really well. You're a natural at this Ratgutt."

"Ya really fink so boss?" Ratgutt asked, narrowing his brow in hope. He'd felt clumsy and foolish besides Ranma, but the boss had never mocked him like any Orc would have done. Ranma nodded his head.

"Uh huh. A few more training sessions like that, and we may be able to have our first sparring match."

"Whut's dat?"

"I'll explain it when it's necessary."

Ratgutt smiled –well, as much as an Orc can be said to smile– and lumbered off towards the cooking fire, Ranma following. That night's meal was almost decently cooked and was made far more palatable by Gitzduffd's sudden revelation of a whole keg of Orc Fungus Beer, which went down a treat amongst the thirsty Orcs. Even Ranma, who had all but sworn off alcohol after seeing the effects drinking had on his "elders", ended up trying it. Though far from the finest brew, there was rough and hearty flavour to it that Ranma found quite enjoyable. Even though he only managed about five cups before everything started to flicker out of focus and he blacked out. Still, this didn't diminish his standing amongst the boyz, as Gitzduffd told him when he finally came to the next day. Most humans could barely manage a single mouthful of the potent alcohol. Ranma would have felt proud if it wasn't for the fact he was wrestling with his first-ever hangover, and this one wouldn't have been unfairly matched in a fight with the after-effects of one of Akane's typical attempts at cooking.

As it was, it was sometime in the afternoon when Ranma was finally well enough to stumble out of the cave, and when he did so it was into a scene of pandemonium. Orcs were running around in disarray or shouting furiously at each other. The clamour made Ranma's headache even worse and he quickly interjected to break up the chaos with greater-than-usual ferocity.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The Orcs quickly whirled to face him, faint flickers of fright passing over their faces before it was mangled by rage.

"Dose bastard beastie-boyz boss! Dey's attacked us! Dey didn't stand a chance boss!"

"Whoa, slow down there, I ain't following yer. What happened?"

"Me an' some ada uvver boyz was out huntin' boss, when all uvva sudden dese beastie-boyz shows up outa nowhere and starts stickin' us fulla spears and hatchets. We lost da bear we'd been trackin', and some uv da lads, well, they'z dedd boss."

"What?" Ranma snarled. The Orc he'd been talking to gulped and pointed a clawed finger towards several still bodies lying on the ground. Ranma walked over, rage burning the lingering effects of his hangover from his brain like cobwebs in a forge. Crudely dumped on the ground were about four Orcs, each fatally wounded with a multitude of javelins and throwing axes. One of the slain was Ratgutt, a pair of javelins buried in his heart, his right arm chopped off and a throwing axe in his head.

"Ratgutt… no… where are they?" Ranma snarled, whirling to face the startled Orc behind him.

"Whut?"

"Where do these miserable bastards have their camp! They're not getting away with this unprovoked attack! Can you find them?"

"An Orc wid his nose chopped off could follow dat stink boss."

"Right, then what are you lot all standing around for? Get yer gear on! We'z going to war against these bastards! Waaagh!"

"Waaagh!"

"Gitzduffd! Come 'ere- you're going to tell me everything about these beastie-boyz…"

Within an hour, Ranma –now educated on the nature of their enemies– and the Fikskulls had reached the point where the hunters had been ambushed. Much to the confusion of his followers, Ranma had ordered the vengeful tribe to halt whilst the sneakiest Orcs had been sent to scout ahead and report back on the strength of the Beastmen camp. Ranma hunched down over a sandy spot, drawing a crude diagram in the dirt with his finger as he tried to explain the battleplan.

"Okay, now, this here is the beastie-boyz camp. This here is us ladz. Here's da plan… we sneaks up on 'em, and forms a ring around their camp. Then, we all rush in at once and kill 'em. You all follow dat?"

"Ya fink we're stoopid boss? We ain't Snotlings or Trolls- it'z a good plan."

"Excellent. Now, as soon as Bork and Widge get back, we'll find out what we're up against and launch the attack."

Ranma had no sooner spoken than Bork and Widge emerged from the undergrowth. Ranma turned to face them.

"Report."

"Dere's about sixty beastie-boyz boss. Dere's also about twenny a' dose freaky dogz and four o' dem weird fings- ya knowz, da ones dat look like da worst uv da fings ya see after a bad pint of Fungus Beer?"

Ranma frowned; this was going to be a close fight. The Fikskulls only numbered about a hundred and ten warriors. Of course, there was also Gitzduffd –who claimed to have a few tricks up his smelly sleeve– and himself. And as far as most of the Fikskulls were concerned, Ranma was an army on his own. Finally nodding, Ranma stood up.

"Come on then boyz. And keep the noise down! We want to sneak up on them- give 'em a taste of their own medicine."

Sneaking doesn't exactly come naturally to Orcs, unlike their Goblin cousins, but the Fikskulls still managed to do a decent job as the group followed Bork and Widge. Separating into multiple smaller groups of about two to four members, the Orcs slipped into the forest so as to circle the camp. Ranma, Gitzduffd, Bork and Widge led the way, as much as that was possible, and soon the Beastmen camp was in sight. It was very much like the original campsite of the Fikskulls, arranged in a rough circle around a crudely carved monolith. The inhabitants on this camp were a bizarre site, a motley gathering of beings whose forms looked to have been composed by chopping up a bunch of people and animals and then stitching them all together. And they were evidentially as brutish as they were ugly; grisly trophies in the form of human bodyparts and bones abounded and the stench of unwashed bodies, bodily waste and old blood flowed from the camp like a tidal wave of putridity, earning snorts of disgust from the Orcs and a grimace from Ranma.

"Da other boyz in place by now?" Ranma asked. Gitzduffd's eyes crossed and he babbled underneath his breath to himself in some nonsensical tongue for about a minute before he uncrossed his eyes and nodded assent. Ranma was somewhat sceptical about Gitzduffd's claims to mystical powers, and this little display wasn't especially convincing, but he nodded.

"Then let's go! Waaagh!"

The Orc battlecry echoed through the air as Ranma's group charged from the scrub and, all around, the rest of the Fikskulls erupted seemingly from thin air. The creatures below were taken off guard, and their desperate scramble for their weaponry gave Ranma and his tribe the time they needed to close in and seize the initiative. Within seconds the air was filled with the sounds of battlecries and screams of death and pain as Orc and mutant slaughtered each other.

A creature that looked like a scrawny human with blunt, bestial features, the legs of a goat, stubby horns and an expression like a whippet that'd just been kicked between the legs jabbed at Ranma with a crude spear, only to have both its spear and its neck broken by a retaliatory side-kick. Bork crushed the skull of something that looked like a pig with a fang-toothed human head with a ferocious blow from his mace, while Widge hacked frantically with his axe at something like a human covered in slime-dripping warts with about a dozen stubby tentacles growing from its chest. Gitzduffd didn't fight, at first, instead waving his staff in dramatic gestures while he chanted in a nonsensical language. Ranma was about to yell at the old Orc Shaman to start fighting when Gitzduffd's chanting suddenly reached a crescendo, whereupon he levelled his staff at a trio of charging goat-men things and burned the flesh from their bones with a sudden blast of emerald green fire.

Of course, the Orcs weren't having things all their own way. A hideous, indescribable mass of mutated flesh and bone leapt at a band of Orc warriors, gutting one with a slash from a taloned limb, biting the head from a second and choking a third with a furry tentacle/prehensile tail before they managed to hack it to pieces. A wizened creature, something like a lanky multi-armed chimpanzee in filthy robes that stood about eight feet tall waved a staff and conjured a ghostly swarm of demonic hawks, which descended upon the Orcs and began pecking and clawing, felling maybe a dozen boyz before Gitzduffd managed to banish them back into the void from which they came. Gitzduffd tried to launch another burst of green fire, but a counterspell from the Beastman Shaman caused it to dissipate in his hands.

"Boss! Get dat gangly git over dere by da Herdstone!"

"Consider him dead!" Ranma replied, not looking up from where he had seized an Ungor by the neck in each hand. A vicious squeeze-jerk combo crushed their throats and he threw the bodies like missiles at two different targets, shattering the skull of a third Ungor and dazing a Gor long enough for the Orc that was fighting it to bury his blade in the Beastman's gut. Stooping down to grab a crude spear, launching an upwards rake-kick that snapped the neck of a creature that tried to attack him from behind, Ranma made of his spectacular leaps over the heads of his enemies. Twice more he leapt, and at the pinnacle of the third leap he launched the spear through the air. Spiralling like a corkscrew, the crude weapon flashed the air like a thunderbolt to bury itself in the enemy Shaman's chest, pinning the creature to the Herdstone.

Upon landing, Ranma dodged several sword strikes and retaliated with throat-crushing chops and skull-splitting punches- he was truly adjusting to this whole "kill your enemy" thing. Spotting one spot where the fighting was particularly fierce and desperate –for the Orcs– he immediately began heading towards it, casually dodging and counter-striking any creature that attacked him. He was unsure if he killed all of his foes or if he simply knocked them unconscious, but he didn't really care. This wasn't the dojo, and these weren't martial artists. This was war, and there was no quarter asked for or given here. Striking a right hook to the chest of one halberd-wielding Bestigor, accidentally burying his hand in its chest up to the elbow, Ranma finally spotted the creature that led this herd.

It was a vile amalgamation of woman and cow, its head that of a six-horned bovine with all-too human eyes. What little clothing it had barely covered its twin sets of ample cleavage or its feminine modesty, and its flesh was littered with piercings in more shapes and seizes than Ranma had ever dreamed existed. In its left hand, the right ended in a great pincer, it clutched a jade-headed mace that it was using with brutal effect on Ranma's Orcs. One Orc that tried to stab her with a spear from behind found itself ensnared by a long, whip-like tail before she partially turned and snipped his head off with a single clash of her pincer.

"Come to me! Slaanesh thirsts for your souls!" She lowed triumphantly, brandishing her gore-splattered mace.

"You want a challenge, I'll give ya a challenge! Waaagh!"

Both challengers heedlessly dispatched any that tried to intervene as they charged towards each other, Ranma ducking beneath a mace swing only to have his sweep-kick jumped over. The two clashed ferociously, Ranma's bare hands versus the mace, pincer, horns and entangling tail of his opponent. Though most would have bet against him, Ranma had been trained since he could walk to be a living weapon and he was easily holding his own, despite the repugnance that threatened to overwhelm him each time he landed a blood-shedding, flesh-bruising blow and his opponent responded with an ecstatic scream, orgasmic moan or a filthy proposition.

The two were evenly matched until an Ungor, sneaking up from behind, managed to stab Ranma in the side of the gut with its spear. Ranma couldn't help the scream of pain, but the combination of his naturally thick and tough flesh and the poor angle of attack meant that the attack failed to wound him seriously. A backhand that struck so fast it was blur shattered both the Ungor's spear and its neck, but the damage was done. The Foe-Render dove at Ranma and almost succeeded in striking him with her mace, but Ranma's last-minute dodge meant that the flange simply glanced off the side of his skull.

He fell to the ground and the Foe-Render loomed overhead, ready to strike the final, fatal blow. But as the daze cleared from Ranma's mind, he smiled grimly- in her eagerness to strike a deathblow; his opponent had dropped her guard. A sweep-kick sent her crashing to the ground, whereupon Ranma leapt from his prone position to close his hands about her neck. They grappled furiously, the Foe-Render clubbing clumsily with her pincer, but she was unable to prevent Ranma from seizing her horns and twisting her head until her neck snapped with a sound like a gunshot. Allowing the body to fall limply to the ground and panting with exhaustion, Ranma glanced up. All around, the Beastmen were fleeing in ragged disarray as triumphant Orc warriors cut them down. The Fikskulls were victorious this day. Absent-mindedly pressing a hand to his bleeding side, Ranma lurched to his feet.

"Boss Ranma! You alright?"

"I'm fine Gitzduffd, nothing that won't heal in a day or so." Ranma replied softly, blinking in shock as the Orc Shaman used his staff to pole-vault over a mound of dead bodies to land clumsily by his side.

"What a fight! We showed dem zoggin' beastie-boyz, dat's fer sure!"

"We lost a lot of boyz doing so though…"

"Yeah, dat's da bad news. Still, won't matter for long."

"What do you mean?"

"When word gets out about what you done today boss, boyz is gonna start takin' notice a' ya. Dey'll start comin' from all over da mountains to fight fer ya now."

"They will?"

"Yep, and da more battles ya win, da more boyz will come to fight fer ya. Ya did good boss. Ya did good."

_Okay, this is why I tend to make chapters shorter- I really dropped in quality on this one. Ah well. If you still want me to keep writing this, then keep reviewing; hitting 100+ reviews for only three chapters will mean this story's even more popular than Sacrifice ½ was!_

_Beastman (beastie-boyz): a savage and evil race of mutants, named because they –on average– look like a weird mish-mash of human and animal parts. Ungors are the dregs of their society, consisting of the smaller and weaker Beastmen with the less impressive horns. Horned Beastmen, known as Gors, are higher up on the social ladder. Bestigors are the elite fighters of a tribe, marked by the favour of the Chaos Gods. A Foe-Render is a tribal chief, while a Shaman wields chaos-given magic and serves as a prophet and advisor to the Foe-Render._

_Slaanesh: the Dark Prince of Chaos, Slaanesh is the hermaphroditic Chaos God of Pleasure, Pain, Excess and Depravity._

_Chaos Spawn (weird fings): Chaos Spawn are obscene, mindless masses of mutated flesh, utterly indescribable horrors that Beastmen and Chaos Warriors herd into battle as a combination of cannon fodder and heavy infantry. In their madness they are utterly fearless, and their myriad mutations make them both extremely dangerous and hard to kill._


	4. Chapter 4

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** well, looks like this story will keep going. I'm kinda reluctant to bring in Grimgor Ironhide; I know I'll do him wrong and even if I don't, the Orc & Gobbo fans will lynch me. Also, how many chapters would you like me to do focusing on Ranma gathering Orcs to his banner before WAAAGH Ranma starts heading down from the mountains and what units do you want me to give him? Finally, this chapter contains what you've all been waiting for: the revealing of Ranma's curse. Hope it isn't too big of a disappointment.

TerraBull: I asked because I didn't understand what you were saying after the PS in your last review. The Fikskulls now control essentially the "middle third" of a single mountain; they're still in the tree line, but the Forest of Shadows is about a day or so's trek downhill. The harsher peaks are above them, and that's where Ranma heads in this chapter (oops, almost gave it away). Just three questions; who do you think would bless Ranma and/or Gitzduffd, how would they do it and who would they become the favoured of? Gork & Mork? Or Tzeentch? No Gods have noticed them yet, but other than the Chaos Gods (and to a lesser extent Gork & Mork) most of the deities of the Warhammer world don't take much notice in the exploits of mortals.

Chapter 4: New Blood, Part 1

Once the Fikskulls had made it back to their camp, Ranma set them to "taking care" of the dead while he attended to some "personal business". Though he knew the potential for chaos if his boyz found out about of his curse, he hadn't bathed in three days, he was covered in blood and now he had a gash in his side- he needed to wash that out or he risked getting an infection, even with his superior healing abilities. Heading further up the mountain, he made his way to a freshwater river, formed from melt-off from higher up in the mountains. While this meant it was perfect for drinking and cleaning –Ranma was heading to one of the separate branches to avoid tainting his tribe's drinking water– it also meant it was ice-cold.

Ranma waded out into the middle of the stream with only the slightest hesitation, shivering from the chill as he became a she. This would also be a way to wash out her clothing- she'd have to do something about getting some more clothes come to think of it. She bent over to pick up a handful of sand and began using it as a crude scour to help scrub out some of the dried gore from her shirt. Once her clothing was wet enough, primarily that the dried blood around the wound in her side had liquefied and unstuck her shirt, she stripped until she was completely naked. Using some stones to hold her clothing in place beneath the water, she took a fresh handful of sand and began scrubbing her skin clean. Gingerly she examined the stab wound in her side- to her relief it wasn't deep enough to cause any major damage, but she'd be best to keep it clean and covered- stitching it closed probably wasn't a bad idea.

"Whut da zog! Who da hell iz you!"

Ranma-chan whipped her head around to find that, to her shock and horror, Bork was standing on the shore and glowering at her. She instinctively covered her breasts, even though her conscious was screaming at her to do something –anything!– to prevent Bork from doing something both of them would regret, but her tongue was as good as paralyzed. Bork crossed his arms and snarled in warning.

"I'z waiting! Who are yer an' whut are ya doin' on Fikskull turf?"

"Bork you mudbrain, it's me- Ranma-chan!" Ranma-chan retorted instinctively. She wanted to kick herself as Bork immediately boggled in disbelief.

"Yeah right! Da boss has black hair fer a start! An' he don't have dose big lumps on his chest neivva! Now you come outa dere ya ugly little git or I'z gonna come in dere and fump ya a goodun!"

Ranma-chan's eye started to twitch, though whether the cause was the general disrespect her underling was showing her or that "ugly" comment was anyone's guess. Totally forgetting about her nakedness, Ranma-chan waded out onto the shore and walked right up to stand directly in front of Bork. If not for the fact he was taller than she was, they would have been eye-to-eye. She calmly raised her head to meet his gaze and made a "come here" gesture with her right finger.

"You come here- I got something to show you."

Bork leant down with an expression that was half glower and half patronising, whereupon Ranma-chan promptly slugged him in the face with all of her –albeit reduced– strength, sending him flying backwards to smash into a nearby boulder with enough force to leave an impact crater. He slowly toppled forward onto the ground, lying there groaning as Ranma-chan calmly walked over to him. When he lifted his head, she calmly kicked him across the face with her right foot, busting his nose and sending blood spurting across the ground.

"Believe me now?" She asked, in a calm, pleasant and level tone of voice. Bork groaned and spat out a couple of tusks before squinting up at Ranma-chan. He studied her for several seconds, and then shook his head in disbelief.

"You da boss alright… but whut the zog happened ta ya?"

"It's a long story. Look, go back to the camp and bring back an empty waterskin, all right? Tell nobody what just happened up here. I'll explain everything to everyone- after I finish my bath. Got that?"

Bork nodded his head, pulled himself to his feet and quickly ran off to do as he was told, while Ranma-chan returned to her bath. Barely an hour later, Ranma-chan was dressed in her slowly drip-drying clothes and standing before the confused Fikskull tribe Orcs.

"Okay, now I'm only gonna tell this story once, so ya all better listen good! That means shut up and don't speak until I'm done! Now, this goes back about a year or so. My father –who doesn't have the brains Gork 'n' Mork gave a Snotling– took me ta this place that was supposed to be a training ground for great warriors. When we get there, it's a dump; all these ponds scattered everywhere and not a soul to be seen. Anyway, long story short, he up and dumps me in one of the ponds. When I came out, I looked like this. Now, whenever I get splashed with cold water, I change into this wretched body. I was actually trying to get a cure when I landed here."

Ranma-chan stopped talking and waited to see the reaction of her tribe. The primary reaction was confusion, though there was a growing tide of rage directed at her father. But unfortunately, she could sense restlessness growing.

"Maybe we shouldn't follow him anymore? Maybe it's a sign from da gods- what kinda Boss lets himself turn into such a weak runt?"

The Orcs yelped as Ranma-chan's fist shot straight outwards and smashed a massive boulder into rubble. She glared at them, eyes aflame with barely-restrained fury as she snarled like a feral beast.

"Who're you calling weak! I'm still chief here, and I'll crush anyone who says otherwise!"

The Orcs shuffled nervously beneath Ranma-chan's steely gaze, and the human wondered if they would try and muster the will to challenge her. The standoff was broken as Gitzduffd suddenly rattled his staff and hollered at the top of his lungs.

"Enuff! Da boss ain't to blame fer dis, and it ain't no reason to go against 'im. Ranma's led us alright so far, ain't he ladz?"

Nods and general sounds of assent answered the Shaman's question.

"Den trust 'im- dis curse a' his is somefing he's trying to get rid of, right boss?"

"You got it. I swear; I'd to rip my worthless father's head off, boil his brains in his own skull and drink them if I thought that would cure me! There's nothing I wouldn't do for a cure!"

"Well, I'll see what I can do about helpin' ya wit dat. But is dere a way to change back?"

"That's easy. Bork, toss me that waterskin."

The Orc grabbed the waterskin he'd been heating on the fire and tossed it to Ranma-chan, who quickly dumped the boiling hot water on herself and changed back into himself. As he pulled off his shirt and wrung it dry, an appreciative "ooooh" rose from the crowd- Orcs liked a show as much as anyone. Pulling his shirt back on, Ranma folded his arm.

"Anyone got any objections? No? Didn't think so."

As the Orcs returned to simply lounging about, waiting for the carcasses of the slain –only Orcs for some reason– to finish cooking, Ranma walked over and clapped a friendly hand on Gitzduffd's shoulder.

"Thanks for that, and for offer of help."

"Dat's nuffink; I got a few more fings I'm gonna see about getting done fer ya- fings dat'll make yer life a bit easier. But first fings first- ya really should get dat wound uv yers stitched up."

"I was about to ask if you could do that."

"Don't worry about dat; as da Shaman, I've sewn up more gaping wounds den yoo've 'ad hot dinners."

"Okay… first, Bork!"

"Yes boss?"

"Get two waterskins and head to the river. Fill them both up and then bring them back here, got it?"

Much to Ranma's surprise Bork gave him a clumsy salute before he ran off.

"Why'd ya send him out for waterskins?"

"You may not have noticed, but when I change forms, I change size as well. If I get this wound of mine stitched up in guy form, then it'll fall open if I turn into a girl. Of course, if I get it done as a girl, it'll need stretchy stitching material."

"Stretchy? …I fink I got some old Trollgut… yeah, dat should do da trick."

The two walked deeper into the cave as they waited for Bork to get back. The next morning, Ranma walked into the decorated alcove where Gitzduffd made his residence.

"Morning boss. How's da stitchin'?"

"Holding out like a charm. Listen, there's something I need to ask you."

"Oh?"

"What are Trolls?"

"Trolls are one a' da races dat sometimes work wit us Orcs. Dey're bigger den most Warbosses and just as strong, if not stronger. Whut's more, dey can heal wounds wit great speed- dey can even regrow a hacked-off limb or a severed head! Deyr only real weakness is dat dey're so stoopid. Dey iz always hungry too, and dat's how most bosses get 'em to join da tribe. Udder den dat, dey'z scared of fire- dey can't heal wounds caused by burning."

"So, you think a Troll or two would be a good addition to our tribe?"

"Yup. Da only problem is findin' dem."

"I can help wit dat."

Both Ranma and Gitzduffd jumped at the sound of Bork's voice.

"How long have you been there?"

"Y'see, back when Chogall ruled the Lugghedds, me an' Wide were da tribe's best hunters. Wun day, we kinda got lost and wandered high up inta da mountain. Way, way up dere, we found fresh spoor- Troll spoor. Dere's a Troll up dere, maybe more den wun. I fink dey're Stone Trolls too."

"Stone Trolls?"

"Trolls, like I said before, eat anyfing. Metal, wood, rock, flesh, sprouts, you name it, dey'll eat it. A Troll dat eats a lot of rock and stone changes into whut we calls a Stone Troll; dey're tougher den ordinary Trolls, and dey're resistant to magic too."

"Hmm… Bork, do you think you and Widge can find your way back to that spot?"

"Sure."

"Gitzduffd; is there anything you particularly need me for today?"

"I wuz gonna see about dat cure uv yers… but I don't really need ya fer dat, not wit da blood I took from yer wound last night."

"…Alright then; get some breakfast down yer gullet Bork, then find Widge- the three of us are going Troll hunting."

Once Ranma made his mind up about something, that was generally that. Within an hour, the human and the two Orcs were hiking up the mountains. Within two hours, they were scaling rocky ledges and climbing trails even a goat would have considered too risky to use. Finally, somewhere near the third hour, they stopped to take a breather. Ranma took a swig from a waterskin he'd brought along, then passed it to Bork.

"Exactly how the hell did you two get up here by accident?"

"We'd rather not talk about it. It'z kinda embarrassing." Said Widge after Bork had passed him the waterskin and he'd taken a swig. Ranma shook his head in disbelief. Their break over, the trio resumed climbing. It wasn't until two hours later that they finally came upon the plateau where Bork and Widge claimed to have found signs of Trolls. After an hour of cautious hunting, they finally struck pay dirt as a great howl echoed in the wind. Bork and Widge threw themselves to the ground, Ranma following their lead as they crawled to a cluster of boulders and peeked cautiously around them.

"We found 'im boss!"

Ranma joined them in looking over the boulders at the soon-to-be newest member of their tribe and couldn't help the faint whistle of approval that slipped past his lips. Standing nine, maybe ten feet, the Stone Troll was a lean and ugly figure with mottled blue-green flesh. It roared again and struck at a nearby boulder with a massive clawed hand, smashing it into rubble. It then clumsily groped for one rock and lifted it up to a gaping maw, into which the stone then vanished with a serious of ghastly crunching sounds. Ranma slipped back behind the boulder.

"Remind me again what my plan was?"

"You tracked da Troll down, now yer gonna beat it into submission and make it join da tribe."

"That's it? That's the plan I came up with in its entirety?"

"Yup."

"I must be out of my mind!"

"Yup."

"Oh well, here goes nothing…"

"Yup."

Ranma leapt over the boulder to stand boldly in front of the Stone Troll. As it turned out, his normal pre-battle taunts were unnecessary; the creature took one look at the human in front of it, roared, and charged towards him, using its overly long arms to help propel itself along like a great ape. Ranma waited until it was almost on top of him, and then casually hopped over it, leaving it to whirl clumsily to face him again in a spray of dust and gravel. Several times more Ranma repeated this tactic, hoping to confuse and tire the Stone Troll before he actually engaged it- though he was confident in his skills, going into battle blindly against a creature that could regenerate damage was a recipe for disaster. His patience was rewards –perhaps– when the creature stopped charging and glared at him, chest visibly heaving with exertion.

It howled and beat its chest in fury, whereupon Ranma launched a flying kick to its chest, rebounded from it to land a safe distance away before springing back into close quarters with a powerful uppercut, immediately after which he danced out of reach of its clumsy retaliatory swipes. The fight went on in that vein for perhaps an hour; Ranma would get within range to launch an attack, generally a Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken, then would use his superior reflexes and agility to evade the Stone Troll's talons, which in all likelihood would have torn him open if they connected. Finally, the two exhausted warriors stood within charging distance of each other, panting from exhaustion but otherwise still defiant. There was a glimmering of something that almost resembled respect in the Stone Troll's eyes. Ranma was the one to break the silence.

"You put up a good fight… I'm Big Boss Ranma, leader of the Fikskull tribe. I could use someone like you down below. You want ta fight with me? Or keep fighting against me?"

The exhausted Stone Troll looked confused for several seconds, then finally relaxed out of its battle-ready posture. Ranma did the same, a tired but triumphant grin on his face. He walked up to the Stone Troll and gave it a friendly slap on the back.

"Come on. Let's go home."

_Okay, I now this is disappointingly short compared to the previous chapter. I originally was going to make this longer, but there's a question I need you reviewers to answer. In the next chapter, I intend to have Ranma pick up a steed. The problem is that I can't decide which to give him. From this following list, pick the steed you want him to have: giant wolf, giant spider, giant boar (this was my originally intended steed, primarily for a pretty obvious pun), wyvern._


	5. Chapter 5

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** now that's what I call eager reaction. The votes were really tight, but the result you'll see in the chapter below. Ranma's finally starting to expand his tribe into non-Orcs, and he's coming down from the mountains. From there, he has Bretonnia way to the south-west, the rest of the Empire to the south, the Border Princes way down south, Middenheim to the west and Kislev to the east. Which way do you want him to start heading on his Waaagh?

In other news, got my first actual flame for this story. Not that I really care- seeing as how the other 150 or so reviews were positive, most of you must think I'm doing something right. Also, I wasn't intending to have any pairings for this- the Warhammer world isn't a place where romance stands a chance of blooming anyway.

Chapter 5: New Blood, Part 2

After leading his new Stone Troll back to Bork and Widge, Ranma had –much to their surprise– ordered them to take it back down to the campsite without him, as he was going to climb a little further.

"But why?"

"I ain't too sure myself, but it feels like there's something calling me upwards… look, I'll be fine. Just get our new member back to the tribe. In fact, tell them to move down to the beastie-boyz' camp; pickings are getting slim around our old camp, so it's time we started moving downhill."

"You da boss."

With that and a clumsy salute, the two Orcs and the Stone Troll lumbered down the mountain, while Ranma turned and began scaling the heights. Within an hour, level ground was a thing of the past and Ranma was clinging to bare rock, probing desperately for hand- and footholds. As he climbed upwards, wondering precisely why he felt so drawn to this place, he heard a sudden, eagle-like screech, followed by a deep reptilian roar. He looked upwards, seeking the source of the noise, and froze as he immediately fixated on what was happening.

There in the sky above him, two great beasts were fighting each other in a savage aerial battle. One looked like some amalgamation of horse and giant eagle, screeching like some demented bird of prey as it clawed savagely at its opponent, a great reptilian beast with bat-like wings, two powerful eagle-like legs and a tail that ended in a great barb of bone, which glistened with some unidentified ichor. The reptile-thing was clearly losing; great wounds in its neck and chest flowed freely with blood, the gore actually raining down lightly upon the human below, while its wings had been savaged so badly that it was amazing it could still fly.

With a final screech, the eagle/horse thing dove at the reptile-beast, clawing out its eyes and slashing its throat open. The slain reptile-beast dropped like a rock, but in a dying spasm managed to slash a deep wound in its killer's chest with the barb on its tail. The barb was clearly tipped with extremely powerful venom, for the eagle/horse gave a final screech and fell from the sky itself. Ranma pressed himself flat against the cliff, praying that neither of the two great carcasses would knock him from his precarious position- it was a long way down. Thankfully, though they passed close enough to him that he could feel the wind of their passage, both corpses missed him. Ranma turned to look over his shoulder at the bodies lying sprawled below, then resumed climbing- he really wished he knew why he was doing this though.

Finally, his questing hand breasted the edge of a ledge and, with a faint hiss as his muscles protested, Ranma hauled himself over the lip. To his surprise, he found himself lying next to a large, scraggly, crudely built nest. A quick look in it revealed that all of the eggs had been smashed and/or eaten- though which of the two creatures he'd seen fighting before was the parent and which was the nest-robber was anyone's guess. As he idly probed through the mess, he heard a faint cracking sound, accompanied by a chirping noise. Gently sliding into the nest, Ranma dug around amidst the twigs and straw until he found the source of the sound; a single undamaged egg- and it was beginning to hatch.

As Ranma watched, the shell split apart and the baby within flopped into the world. It was a miniature version of the reptile-beast he'd just seen killed, with scales of pearly white hue. It tried to walk, instead falling on its belly, and squeaked desperately, golden eyes looking up to stare at Ranma with that strange innocence only a newborn could have. Ranma gingerly reached out and gently stroked the top of its head, eliciting a pleased chirp, then gently scooped the creature up and tucked it down the front of his shirt. Though he was far from the nurturing type, he just couldn't bring himself to leave this little thing up here to die. Once he was sure the little thing was secure, he began the long descent down towards the camp.

It was well into the night when Ranma finally made it to the new camp of the Fikskulls, and by that time both his stomach and the little creature were clamouring for food. He was even willing to join his boyz in eating roast Orc, he was that hungry. He'd barely made it into the camp when Gitzduffd came lurching out of the darkness.

"Ah, dere you iz boss. I- whutcha got dere?"

Ranma produced the squawking creature, at which Gitzduffd's jaw dropped.

"I found it when I scaled the mountain. I think this was why I was drawn to go up there."

"Dat's whut yoo was seeking? Da gods must be smiling on you!"

"Why's that?"

"Dat's a Wyvern sprog! Wyvern's iz da meanest, bitiest, spitiest, nastiest, bestest steeds an Orc could hope fer! Orc Bosses would pay a fortune fer dat little fing! Oh, I almost fergot. I made dis fer ya."

He handed Ranma a large bracelet, crudely hewn from rock and carved with a variety of bizarre looking symbols. Ranma looked at it in confusion.

"What is it?"

"I carved it from da Herdstone, before I got da boyz to topple it. It won't cure ya, as such, but it'z da next best fing. Ya put dis on, and it'll keep ya in da form ya put it on."

"You really mean that?"

"Yup. Made it myself, used da most powerful magic I could fink of ta do it. So stick it on already."

The bracelet was large enough that Ranma could simply slide it onto his right wrist. As he wondered how to keep it from slipping off, it suddenly shrank until it fit neatly around his arm. As he stared in it at surprised, Gitzduffd cackled softly.

"I'll take dat little 'un off yer hands and give it somefing ta eat- ya needs to give it plenny a' meat if'n ya wants it to grow up quickly. But dere's some bad news boss."

"Oh?"

"We got company. Goblins." Gitzduffd snorted this last word as Ranma handed over the baby Wyvern. Ranma's eyes narrowed; he'd been told about Goblins, and what he'd been told didn't make him comfortable.

"What do they want?"

"Dey wants us to join dey're Waaagh boss. Deyr Boss is challenging you. "E's over by da cookfire- yer gonna haff to take 'im down or else dere's gonna be trouble. Goblins is weak, but dey're sneaky, and dere's a lot of dem."

Ranma nodded his agreement and, pushing his hunger to the side, strode fearlessly towards his latest opponent. Within minutes he was just beyond the light of the cookfire, eyeing up his soon-to-be-faced opponent. By Goblin standards, he was no doubt quite impressive; a mass of sinewy muscles that would probably reach a bit over Ranma's waist. His single eye, the other having been clawed from its socket, glittered with insane light and something had bitten off roughly half of his mutant turnip of a nose. He clutched a curve-bladed and badly nicked sword in his right hand, and a buckler in his left, and was dressed in an oversized suit of chainmail armour that made him look like he was wearing a rusty dress. He danced and gestured in front of the fire before calling out.

"Come on out ya git! I'z Big Boss Drektyr Halfnose, and I'z callin' ya out!"

"I, Big Boss Ranma, accept yer challenge ya miserable runt!"

Ranma had no sooner spoken then he leapt out of the darkness, somersaulting over his enemy's head to land in a fighting posture before him. The Fikskulls cheered and yelled encouragement, eager to see their Big Boss break another challenger, while the Goblins just stared at him. Drektyr Halfnose stared at Ranma with an incredulous expression before spluttering with shock.

"Whut da zog! Yer no Big Boss- yer a stinkin' humie! I'z not gonna waste me time wit no stinkin' slave! Where'z da boss!"

"I am the boss you wretched little runt! But to be fair, I'll let ya have the first strike- unless yer willing to admit yer not hard enough to challenge me, in which case I'll let you join my Waaagh."

Drektyr stared at Ranma, then laughed loudly and madly for several seconds before suddenly lunging at him with his sword. In a single swift movement, Ranma batted the blade aside with a casual backstroke from his left hand and struck out with a powerful kick from his right leg that caught the Goblin Big Boss beneath the chin and sent him flying up into the air before he landed on the ground with a bone-breaking THUMP. Well, his body landed anyway. Ranma had, much to the human's well-masked surprise, literally kicked his enemy's head off, and it wasn't until several minutes later that the startled one-eyed Goblin's head hit the ground. Well, the head of Ranma's Stone Troll anyway, which promptly picked it off the ground and ate it. As the Orcs whooped and cheered appreciatively –and more than a few made personal notes to bet on Ranma if he even entered a Gobbo-tossing contest– Ranma turned to face the silent Goblins.

"Well? Anyone else care to try their luck? Who's da boss now?"

"Ranma! Ranma! WAAAGH!"

Ranma smiled, dusted his hands and walked back to find Gitzduffd- he tended to share his meals with the elderly Shaman. The next morning, he called up all of his boyz –old and new– to give them the news on what was going on.

"Alright, now, some of you are new here so I'll give you your first and only warning; shut up while I'm speaking or I'll thump ya until you shut up, got it? Now, things are getting tight around here. We've got all you boyz and not enough food to go around- we're hunting up all the animals on the mountain. So that means there's only one thing to do- what the zog do you think yer doing?" Ranma stopped, glaring as Orcs and Goblins both began drawing weapons and staring at each other with calculating expressions. "Put those things away before you hurt yourselves. Start packing boyz- we'z heading back down into the Forest of Shadows!"

Ranma smiled as the tribe, even the Goblin newcomers, started rushing around getting all their stuff together. While they did that, Ranma went back into the cave to speak with Gitzduffd, who claimed to have some stuff he needed to speak to Ranma about.

"So what was it you wanted Gitzduffd?"

"Well, asides dat bracelet I made fer ya, I got ta finking yesterday."

"About what?"

"Well, it's high time ya got yerself some armour and a weapon. I mean, yeah, ya can do a lot of damage wit ya hands, but dat beastie-chief almost got yer…"

"Look, while I appreciate the concern, neither weapons nor armour are my thing. I can handle weapons, yeah, but I'm much better with my hands and feet. So unless you got some sort of gauntlet or boot weapons, then I'm best sticking with what I got. And while I wouldn't mind some protection, armour just hinders me too badly to make it worth my time. So thanks, but no thanks."

"Well, gimme some time an' I fink I can get yer a weapon, but try dis helmet I made fer ya- dat'll help yer out, won't it?"

Ranma really didn't feel like doing so, but he did owe the old Orc for this form-holding bracelet (and an accident with a cold waterskin the night before had proved it worked) and so he decided to humour him. The helmet was a rather crudely shaped metal skullcap with six horns set in a circle around its brim, giving it a rather crown-like look. The horns looked kind of familiar come to think of it. Placing it on his head, he tilted his head to the side; it fit pretty well, and maybe it would come in handy. He nodded at Gitzduffd.

"Alright, now lets go- the other ladz should be ready to go by now."

Outside, the tribe was indeed ready to go, though there were some last minute details that had to be taken care of. While they were all in one place, Ranma decided to take stock of his forces. The results were actually quite impressive. He had ninety Orc warriors, organised into three "mobs" of thirty; Bork's Bashers, Widge's Wallopers and the Gitduffers. He also had that Stone Troll, which the tribe had taken to calling Rocky, and the baby Wyvern now perched on his shoulder. Drektyr Halfnose's former Goblins swelled his ranks even further, with seventy Goblin warriors (divided into two mobs of thirty five; Da Twitchy Runtz and Da Mangy Gitz) and seventy Goblin archers (Da Backshootas and Sneeka's Sneeks), three Spear Chukkas and their crews –collectively referred to as the Sticka Boyz– and 20 Goblin Wolf Riders; Troglahai's Marauders. Ranma looked them over and beamed with pride.

"Come on boyz! Battles, food and loot are just down at the foot of these mountains! The good life is just a day or so's march away! Lets go!"

_Okay, another disappointingly short chapter. I apologise, but I swear I'll try to make the next one longer._

_Wyvern: flying reptiles notorious for their savagery and their venomous stingers. Orcs are the only race brave enough –or stupid enough– to tame these creatures._

_Hippogryph (eagle/horse): a mountain-dwelling monster that looks like a horse with the wings, front legs and head of a giant eagle._

_Spear Chukkas: crude ballista's (siege weapons resembling oversized crossbows) crewed by Goblins._

_Goblin Wolf Riders: some of the bravest Goblins will tame (for lack of a better word) the ferocious Dire Wolves that roam the forests of the Old World. These Goblin cavalry range far and wide ahead of the main force, scouting out the land and falling upon weak victims._

_Dire Wolves: extremely large, cunning and ferocious lupines native to the Warhammer world. Some Goblins ride them into battle- generally, the Dire Wolf is more dangerous than the Goblin._


	6. Chapter 6

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** for a time I began to worry people weren't interested in this story any more, but then you started reviewing again and put me at ease. Just one thing; the Warhammer world is not D&D or Warcraft; there are no Night Elves and Ranma isn't gaining Experience Points/Levelling Up. Just thought I should make it clear. And while direct romance is pretty much out of the question, one or two trouble-girls (by which I mean females who, even if not interested in Ranma romantically, still cause problems for him) might be doable. For example, how about a female Blood Dragon Vampire? Can't quite figure out why she'd be out for his blood (in the metaphoric sense) though…

TheTraveller411 (): Truth be told, I had already considered giving him a set of enchanted gauntlets & boots as his Magic Weapon, though I would appreciate some suggestions on what "powers" they should have. Not to mention where/how he should get them.

ChaosRune: the horns were taken from the skull of the Foe-Render Ranma slew in chapter 3.

Erich Manstein: firstly, I appreciate the compliments. Secondly, I'm actually unsure what I'm going to have Ranma do; I'm not too sure the mercenary thing would work, but maybe a more "troubleshooter" role? He may have lost his compulsion about killing, but he still has the same morals- I might have him sailing to Albion to help the Truthspeakers restore the stone circles. Or maybe head to Naggaroth on a mission to try and rescue slaves. Actually, I might have him do either of those irregardless. Originally, I intended to have Ranma lead the Orcs in search of a way home- with him less leading and more having them tag along. That's gone out the window. Actually, later on I might do a chapter or two where Ranma gets pulled back to Nerima, and goes on a rampage trying to find a way back to his boyz... Nah. Thirdly, I've never read Warhammer: Dark Omens, so I don't know any of the characters. There was a little Dwarf scenario going through my head though, but I'm unsure as to whether to go with it or not. On a random note; I'm looking at my copy of the 7th Ed Rulebook, and according to its map Ranma is in the northern-most reaches of the Empire- and closer to Middenheim than he is to Altdorf.

TerraBull: this story is based more on WFB than WFRPG, so no classes. No, currently Gitzduffd is the only Shaman they have- I'm thinking on having a new Shaman join them, maybe when they get some Night Goblins. Also, what was that about the standard? Were you suggesting the design for the army banner?

Chapter 6: The Gathering Storm

In fact, it took several days for Ranma and his tribe to reach the foot of the mountain, the journey not expedited by multiple skirmishes with warbands of Beastmen. Still, those battles did help Ranma get the Orcs and the Goblins to start fighting together with greater efficiency. And Gitzduffd's words had proven true; Ranma's Wyvern had really started to grow on its diet of corpse-flesh. It was roughly the size of a small Goblin now, too big to ride on Ranma's shoulder yet still too small to learn to fly. Its scales were still white, which Gitzduffd had remarked as being unusual. They were officially in the Forest of Shadows now, and all was peaceful and quiet.

"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the throne of- URK!"

"Zoggin' Beastmen! Die!"

Not. Ranma and his boyz hacked furiously through the sprawling masses of Beastmen as the Goblin Archers did their best to provide covering fire. They weren't very good at it, true, but at least their misses weren't endangering their own side, which meant they'd definitely improved. Maybe taking the last Goblin to "accidentally" shoot at Ranma and firing him out of his own bow had been a good move after all? The Sticka Boyz however needed a bit more "education" in regards to team work; none of them were coordinating their efforts and so they weren't killing anywhere near as well as they should have. Still, Ranma couldn't really blame them for being a little distracted; the whole tribe had been awake since dawn and, in the three hours since they got up, this was the third warband to attack them.

Ranma smashed the throat of a Bestigor clad in armour of red and bronze, whilst beside him Bork hacked off the legs of a towering insectile abomination, allowing Widge to pulp its brains with several swings of his mace. Rocky remained nonplussed despite the fact he was surrounded by a swarm of Ungors, who were frantically stabbing and jabbing with their spears as he crushed skulls, skewered torsos, ripped open bodies and tore of limbs with every swipe of his clumsy, powerful arms. What little damage did manage to get through his stony hide healed up almost instantly, and all they really succeeded in doing was provoking him to the extent that he finally vomited a geyser of corrosive bile over the most persistent ones, dissolving them into nothing with hideous screams of agony.

Ranma looked for the Foe-Render as he punched and kicked his way through the ranks of Bestigors; he'd learned that taking out the leader of a warband was one of the best ways to break its morale. The problem was that all these Bestigors were in the way. The thought had no sooner come into his mind than a crackling bolt of green lightning suddenly arced over his head to zap each and every one of the Bestigor. A few shook it off with little more than a dazed look, while most scream in pain as blood suddenly gushed from eyes, ears, noses and mouths. An unlucky few even had their heads explode in a gory detonation of blood, brain tissue and bone fragments. As Ranma shook his eyes clear of the gore, instinctively felling anything that came near, he finally saw his target; a hulking man-ant thing that was currently biting the head off of one really unlucky Goblin.

"Hey! Powderpuff! Come and fight with a real challenger ya lily-livered cowardly weakling!"

The man-ant voiced a roar –well, as much of a roar as an insect-creature can make– and charged straight for him, lashing out indiscriminately at anything in its path with twin axes clutched in hands at the end of gorilla-like arms. Making an obscene gesture, Ranma dodged its attacks and ran away backwards from it, jumping over or ducking beneath enemies who came up from behind- and who usually found themselves butchered when they failed to get out of their leader's way. Seeing what he was doing, the Orcs quickly moved to get out of the blast radius, much to the confusion of the Goblins. Soon, Ranma had led the Foe-Render into the center of a spiral, managing to draw in more Beastmen as he did. He favoured a final triumphant smirk before unleashing his trump card.

"Hiryu Shoten Ha!"

Fuelled by the intense rage of these Khorne worshippers, Ranma's attack was a devastating cyclone of ki-charged wind that ripped those unfortunate enough to be caught within its spiral to gory shreds. That included the Foe-Render, whose head landed neatly at the point where the horns of Ranma's helmet all started pointing in towards each other, sitting there like a grisly trophy as shattered weapons, armour chunks and body fragments rained down around him. The Orcs and Goblins cheered and whooped in glee, this was only the second time they'd seen him use this technique, (first for the Goblins) but as far as they were concerned it was a real crowd-pleaser. Their morale broken, the remaining Beastmen were quickly mopped up or chased off, Wolf Riders chasing them into the forest before Ranma's whistle brought them to a halt.

"Let 'em go boyz, we'll take a breather here for a while."

The Wolf Riders immediately broke off the chase; all the Goblins had learned exactly what happened if they disobeyed Ranma's orders. The Greenskins immediately set about looting the fallen and finishing off any surviving Beastmen, Ranma walking proudly through their ranks in search of Gitzduffd and his Wyvern- he really needed to name that little creature. He found the elderly Orc leaning on his staff for support, a particularly large Bestigor lying dead at his feet with Ranma's Wyvern feeding on the corpse, and frowned in concern; he'd struck up a rapport with Gitzduffd, and the Shaman was more of a parental figure to him than his own father had been. He was beginning to worry; Gitzduffd wasn't getting any younger, and even with the plentiful food and shiatsu massages he was receiving he was getting slower and weaker. He knew that, if it weren't for his patronage, the Shaman would probably be dead by now.

"You alright Gitzduffd?"

"Dese old bones is getting worse m'boy. 'E almost got da drop on me. Yer Wyvern took 'im down though; bit 'im in da froat and just hung dere an' kept stingin' 'im in da face 'n' chest till 'e stopped movin'."

Ranma looked at the little creature with great pride, and it looked from its feasting, muzzle red with gore, to chirp proudly before returning to its feasting. Ranma walked over to place a comforting hand on Gitzduffd's shoulder.

"Listen, maybe you should start taking it easier? I mean, you're kinda old…"

WHOK

"Don't try 'n' coddle me boss, I knowz I'z getting weaker. I'z not gonna last da year, I knowz dat."

"There must be something we can do!"

"Nah boss, age is da wun fing even Orcs can't beat. Dun't feel so bad; I'z had a good life, an' yer gonna be a fine Boss even widdout me. Ya'll find annuver Shaman and everfing will be fine."

Ranma tried to speak, but the words simply choked up in his throat and, to both their surprises, he gave the old Orc a quick hug. Breaking off the contact, he whistled the Wyvern to his side and the two quickly headed off to settle the brawls that had naturally started over who got what piece of loot. Gitzduffd watched him go and shook his head with more than a hint of sadness.

Once all the scuffles had been sorted out, and more than a few Greenskins would be nursing bruises from their boss's fists and feet for a couple of days, the army started moving again, though fortune favoured them in that the next three hours went by without a single attack. This helped mollify Ranma's temper, which had soured somewhat by the fact that not one person in the tribe knew where they were, other than that they were heading north of the Middle Mountains.

"Any idea why we kept running into all those Beastmen Troglahai?"

"Ah, dose buggers have been an infestation in dese woods fer years, but barely a munf ago dey started swelling in numbers- ya can barely frow a rock widdout hittin' wun, and dat's why we ended up in da Middle Mountains; dere's less of 'em up dere."

The Goblin Wolf Rider replied nonchalantly. She –as Ranma had found out some time ago, Greenskin males and females were all but indistinguishable; the only difference between a pregnant female and a fat male was that the female was meaner– had ended riding her steed alongside Ranma, and the two had struck up a conversation out of sheer boredom. She was the only surviving member of Drektyr Halfnose's family, as he'd murdered the rest on his ascension to the position of Big Boss, escaping solely because she was far more interested in her position as Wolf Rider Boss than in being Big Boss.

"If that's so, then where are they now?"

Troglahai shrugged in the evidentially multiversal gesture of "I dunno". Ranma rolled his eyes, but his sarcastic comment was clipped from his tongue as he heard a sudden series of loud crashes and booming. He instinctively slipped into a fighting stance as his followers prepared for battle, but nothing emerged from the shadowy gloom to attack them. Straightening up, he barked out orders in his best authoritive tone of voice.

"Bork! Widge! Gitzduffd! Troglahai! You come with me; we're gonna see what that is. The rest of you, stay where ya are! Any of you that moves without my orders gets a knuckle sandwich, Saotome Style!"

The Greenskins instantly froze where they were as Ranma and his chosen underlings, Ranma's Wyvern half running half leaping alongside them, dashed off through the undergrowth towards the sound. And it wasn't long before they were peeking through the trees into a clearing where the sounds were originating from perhaps the most uneven battle Ranma had ever seen. About thirty Beastmen were attacking a single foe- and losing. Their opponent was a monstrous humanoid, sixty feet tall at the very least, who was carrying an entire tree trunk as his weapon. He was dressed in clothing made by crudely stitching together the badly tanned skins of entire cattle, decorated with what Ranma at first took to be buttons, then realised were shields. It was bare foot, revealing great twin-toed feet the size of rowboats, one of which lashed out and caught a careless Beastmen, sending him flying to land right in between Ranma and his followers. It was stunned, but still alive, though that state of affairs lasted for all of the ten or so seconds it took for Ranma to snap its neck.

"EASY DA FERG!" the beast roared, the sheer force of its cry rattling trees. Gripping its tree trunk like a baseball player with his bat, it swung it to catch three Beastmen and send them flying in a homerun. Now it brought the club in an overhead arc to smash two more flat, then it kicked out again to snap the necks of four. Switching its grip to one-handed, it seized a Beastman in its free hand and, pausing only to stamp another into jelly, squeezed it until it burst. As they circled its feet, jabbing and slashing, it roared in rage and a hint of pain and suddenly jumped straight up, only to land flat on both feet amidst the ranks of its foes. Like some monstrous child, it continued to hop about until it had crushed all of its victims to death. Well, except for one that tried to flee, only for the creature to snatch it up and stuff it into its mouth, bones audibly crunching in between its teeth.

"Hur-hur-hur! Dat showed ya! Ain't no flies on Fergee!"

"What is that thing Gitzduffd?"

"A giant- dey're real good fighters, but not very bright. Not dumb like Trolls, but dey're scatterbrained and dey drink too much."

"Well, I'm gonna try and bring him into the tribe. Stay here- don't want any of you getting caught in the crossfire."

"Dun't worry 'bout us, we'z gonna stay right here." Muttered Troglahai, Ranma ignoring her as he strode boldly into the clearing, where the giant –apparently named Fergee– was poking gleefully at the remains of his kills.

"Hey there big fella! That was some impressive fighting there!"

"Huh? Who callin' Fergee?"

He looked around stupidly before finally his gaze fell on Ranma, giving the human a chance to study the giant's face. It was surprisingly human, with a great mane of dirty blond hair that fell loosely around wide, broad features. It had two great blue eyes, and broad and often-broken nose. It grinned at Ranma, displaying great square teeth before booming out in speech.

"Whut little man wants with Fergee?"

"I'm Big Boss Ranma, and I want you to join my WAAAGH! We could use a big strong fellow like you, so what do you say?"

"Hur-hur-hur! Little man make funny joke! Fergee work fer no-one; Fergee top dog!"

"Alright then, how about a little wager then?"

"Whut?"

"A bet. If I can beat you in a fight, with nothing but my bare hands, you fight for me. Deal?"

"HUR-HUR-HUR!" Fergee roared with laughter, laughing so hard that he eventually fell over onto his back, arms wrapped around his stomach from laughing. Ranma waited patiently for him to stop, though had anyone been close enough to see they would have noticed his eye begin to twitch. Finally, Fergee pulled himself to his feet, wiping a tear that could have filled a couple of buckets away from the corner of his eye.

"Little man is funny! Fergee like little man! But little man better stop joking- else Fergee make little man sorry…"

"You don't believe me? Fine. I'll let you have the first strike- unless, of course, yer a coward!"

This insult apparently struck a nerve, as Fergee roared with rage and whipped his great club around in an overhead arc that descended on Ranma like a thunderbolt. At the last moment, Ranma struck upwards with a powerful uppercut, shattering the tree into a mass of wood chunks and prompting an angry bellow from the enraged giant. He slammed down his open-palmed hand in an attempt to flatten Ranma, but the martial artist easily flipped out of range of that attack. When Fergee slammed down his other hand, Ranma leapt onto the back of it and then ran up the giant's arm to launch a flying kick into the side of his opponent's massive head, using the momentum to rebound to a safe distance as the giant smashed his own fist into the side of his head.

Looking dazed, but by no means out, Fergee snarled and punched at Ranma with a fist easily the size of one of Happosai's jumbo Fire-Burst bombs. Back-flipping away as it smashed into the earth, Ranma then leapt forward to land on top of Fergee's hand and, from there, leap upwards to punch with all his force at a single spot directly between Fergee's crossed eyes. The massive impact dazed even the giant and he clapped a hand to his head, looking decidedly unsteady, as Ranma spotted his chance to end this and dove forward. Launching a flying kick into one of Fergee's ankles, a second such attack at the back of his knee proved too much for the giant and the clumsy creature toppled to the ground with an enormous crash, Ranma diving for safety just in time. As Fergee groaned and blinked his eyes blearily, Ranma leapt up onto his chest.

"Had enough yet? Or do you want to play some more?"

Fergee pushed himself up with his hands until he was sitting on the ground, Ranma leaping away only to land in Fergee's open palm. The giant brought Ranma close to his face and studied him for several long seconds before grinning broadly and laughing uproariously.

"Hur-hur-hur! You one tough chappie! Fergee like you little man! Okay, Fergee fight for little man now!"

"The name is Ranma. But thanks. I don't suppose you know where we are?"

"Nope."

"Figure. So how exactly am I going to lead this tribe on a glorious rampage if I haven't a clue where I am? I mean, it's not like maps grow on trees!"

"Map? Fergee have map! Fergee show you!"

The giant absentmindedly dropped Ranma, who landed neatly as a cat as always, and walked over to the opposite edge of the clearing, where he picked up a massive sack and began rooting around in it. Finally, he withdrew a human-sized chest and walked over to drop it at Ranma's feet. Ranma flipped it open, the lock having been torn off a long time ago, and found it full of scrolls and falling-apart books, with a quick rummage producing what was unquestionably a map. He studied it intensely as Fergee beamed broadly.

"Fergee find it in human caravan. Stupid Beastmen kill all men guarding it, but Fergee come and bash-smash before dey set it on fire. Find box and bring it along Fergee did. Ranma like?"

"I like very much! Hmm… okay, we're in the north of the Middle Mountains… if we go around them to the east, we came up against this place called Wolfenburg. If we take the same way west, we go up against this place called Middenheim…"

"We ain't goin' west den." Troglahai's voice came. Ranma looked up from the map as the Goblin and the Orcs cautiously emerged from the woodlands.

"Why's that?"

"Middenheim's a fortress, dat's why! And da place is even more guarded den usual, ever since dis big mob a' Chaos-boyz attacked dem! Dat's where all da beastie-boyz comes from; dey're da survivors a' da siege."

"I wondered. That makes me wonder where they are now… I mean, we were running into a warband an hour before, why haven't we seen any since?"

"Cause dey attacking a village dat way." Answered Fergee. Ranma looked up at him in shock.

"How do you know that?"

"Fergee overheard dem Beastmen talking about it, afore Fergee bash-smash dem."

"Could you find the way?"

"Leave it to Fergee!"

"Alright then- you four, get the ladz and lets moving! We'z got more beastie-boyz ta stomp!"

_I know, I know; the character interactions were cheesy and the fight scenes sucked. I'm doing my best and I'm trying to improve! Still, I hope it was otherwise palatable. Remember; if you want me to keep updating, then keep reviewing._


	7. Chapter 7

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** okay, I apologise for the end notes for the previous chapter, but this story has been getting so many reviews per chapter that, well, I got worried. I'll try and control my paranoia better from now on. As to Ranma's skill level, the "background universe" for this is Anime, maybe a week after the Kuno & the Wishing Sword storyline. This means that Ranma doesn't know the Moko Takabisha yet, and the Senken styles are Manga Only. I did intend for Ranma to learn how to draw upon the massive amount of Ki projected by battle-ready Greenskins, but I've had no suggestions of what sort of techniques to have him design using this ability.

TerraBull: what are AoE effects/attacks? This story is set in the spring following Storm of Chaos. Precisely what other possibilities do you mean? Journey to Albion? Free the Slaves from Naggaroth? Ranma gets pulled back to Nerima and tries to find a way back to the Fikskulls?

Speaking of Nerima, does anyone want me to do a chapter focusing on what's going on in Nerima while Ranma's becoming a Warboss?

Finally, I have some ideas for gauntlets and boots- pick the one you think would be best.

Shockwave Gauntlets: amplify the concussive force of Ranma's attacks. As well as increasing his ability to penetrate armour, this lets him stun opponents.

Blister Gloves: flaming gauntlets that let Ranma toss short-ranged globules of flame, as well as rendering his attacks Flaming.

Bladed Boots: when Ranma makes a kick with these enchanted shoes, razor-sharp blades extend, retracting when he finishes the attack.

Ledge Boots: when Ranma wills it, these boots can generate a small disk of force capable of supporting his weight and which moves beneath his feet. The force-disk only lasts for 5 seconds, though this is generally long enough for Ranma to leap even higher. They also let him walk over insubstantial surfaces.

Chapter 7: To Da Rescue!

Other than a minor pause caused by disbelief when Ranma had announced they were going to SAVE the humans from the Beastmen, a conflict Ranma had quickly resolved in the manner Greenskins understood best, the Fikskulls were making good time through the thick forest. This was in no small part due to the aid of Fergee, whose massive bulk easily smashed and crushed through the barriers of trees, shrubbery and other such things. Troglahai's Marauders swept out to form a skirmishing screen at the front, their lupine steeds easily keeping up with the lumbering giant. Behind them, Ranma and Gitzduffd led the charge of the Gitduffers, Ranma turning his head to look at his Wyvern, who was flying –albeit clumsily– by his side.

"The sooner you grow big enough to ride, the better."

The Wyvern simply shrilled, and its voice had definitely deepened since that morning. Gitzduffd simply shook his head; he respected Ranma, as a person, as a leader and –especially– as a fighter, but there were times he was rather hard to take seriously. Watching him have a conversation with a pet –check that, an argument with a pet– was one of those times. Fortunately for everyone's sake, they were shaken back to reality by Fergee's tree-shaking battlecry.

"EASY DA FERG!"

Ranma had seen many, many strange things throughout his life. The sight of a sixty-foot man launching himself forward in an earth-shaking elbow drop wasn't the strangest, but it was pretty high on the list. As the Marauders burst through the undergrowth, Ranma could hear the sounds of lupine howls and barking mingling with the frankly obscene battlecries of Goblins and the bleats and bellows of the Beastmen victims.

Then it was he and the Gitduffers who came into range, charging across the battered ground and beneath the staggering figure of Fergee –clumsily rising from the ground– to smash into a wheeling herd of Gors and Ungors like a green thunderbolt. Ranma delivered an axe-kick to a two-headed Gor that smashed both its heads together, blood and cerebral fluid spurting from the massive force of the attack, then punched into the chest of a rat-like Ungor with such force his splay-fingered hand smashed through its ribcage, whereupon he tore out its heart and hurled it like a grisly missile to splatter against the face of a Centigor clashing with Bork, blinding it so that his Orc lieutenant could hew it in half at the waist.

Orcs bulled into melee with Ungors, brutally smashing through heedless of the spears that jabbed at their flesh –in some cases literally glancing off the thick skin as though it had struck armour plate– in their eager rush to get to the "real challenge" of the Gors hiding behind them. Fergee, currently devoid of a club, fought in the simple but efficient Giant Style; he kicked, punched, stomped, jumped up and down on, headbutted and ate anything he could get his hands on. Goblins taunted enemies into chasing them, then retreated to allow their archers to use the goaded foe for target practise.

Wolf Riders and Centigors clashed savagely, the Goblins trading blow with the Beastman upper half while their wolves bit and tore at the raking quadrupedal body beneath. Rocky –having picked up an Ungor that had been torn in half at the waist from somewhere– swung the corpse by the entrails like a flail, smashing the dead meat against those enemies beyond the reach of his raking claws. The "thwap" noise of the Sticka Boyz deploying their Spear Chukkas thrummed in the air as the oversized arrows skewered enemies like kebabs, ready for the post-battle barbecue. Ranma ripped the throat from his latest enemy with his hands and howled in barbarous exultation, a far cry from the squeamish martial artist he'd been when he came to this world.

The battle had been brutal, bloody and short- which meant that the length was the sole factor the Greenskins had to complain about. Ranma shook the worst of the blood from his face and looked out over the battlefield, Greenskins already looting the fallen. Wandering past Rocky, chewing on the rear of a Centigor, he made his way to Gitzduffd, the Shaman idly contemplating a mass of magically scorched bones currently being chewed on by Ranma's Wyvern. Ranma walked up to him with a grin and, half-shouting to make himself heard over the sound of Fergee jumping up and down on a herd of well-dead Beastmen, spoke to him.

"Nice fight, hey Gitzduffd? Rather lousy resistance to be honest though."

"Dat's cause dese were just da rear-guard boss. Da uvver beastie-boyz must be at da village by now."

"What? Why didn't you say so sooner? Come on boyz! There's more killing to be done yet!"

"WAAAGH!"

Heinrich Grimsfield, Magister of the Amber College and mayor of the small outpost known as Lehdborough, was exhausted, terrified, enraged and a few other emotions he couldn't even identify. The hunters of the village had been fortunate enough to warn them of the approaching warband, one of the largest yet to menace the town, and thus the defences had been erected in time. That didn't mean the fight was easy, not by a long shot. Corpses both human and inhuman littered streets now turned to gory mud, the gates into the town having been smashed open and allowing the Beastmen relatively free access, though a few archers still managed to snipe at any who dared enter. From his position atop the town hall, he glared down at one band of Beastmen that was rampaging through the streets relatively unmolested. He began the series of gestures and invocations that would conjure a flight of spirit-eagles to attack his foes, but he was bare syllables from finishing when a great muddy boulder came soaring through the sky to land squarely atop them, splashing blood and flesh across the street. The spell died upon his lips as a booming voice echoed across the field.

"Fergee got dem! Boss owes Fergee keg of Fungus Beer!"

"WAAAGH!"

Oh great. It was Fergee- that wretched giant had wandered into the vicinity about a month ago, and Heinrich had been hoping it would wander off. Now he'd come to Lehdborough, and what's worse he'd brought Greenskins with him. Heinrich prepared himself to warn his people of this new threat, but the words died on his lips as the green horde came charging out of the woods to smash into the rear ranks of the Beastmen. He watched in disbelief as the Greenskins fought with greater skill and coordination then he'd ever heard of them possessing; normally such creatures simply charged forward as an unruly mob and, while this force did fight with the bloodthirsty enthusiasm of their species, there was actually an element of discipline in their grisly work.

As he watched, Fergee ripped up a tree from the ground and swung it in a sweeping sideways arc, smashing aside a bunch of Gors as he did so. He swore as he felt a tingling in the back of his head; the Greenskins evidentially had a magic user of their own somewhere. As he watched, a great spiralling pillar of emerald green fire blasted down from the sky to roast a pack of Chaos Hounds. As Fergee snatched up a Minotaur and squeezed it until it burst, he shook his head- they might stand a chance at fighting off the Beastmen now, but who would save them from the Greenskins after they were finished slaughtering the Beasts of Chaos? He started as he though he saw something leaping across the battlefield, easily covering the ground in great bounds that hit a pinnacle of thirty feet or so in height. Blinking rapidly, he chanted the spell that would let him fly on the wings of an eagle down to the street- his people needed him.

Hans parried desperately with his sword; though nobody who lived in the Forest of Shadows didn't know how to wield a weapon, that still didn't mean he was an expert with it. The Gor chopping at him with a crude axe voiced a braying laugh, and then suddenly lunged forward. Hans blocked the blade easily enough, but the attack was a feint- the Gor's goat-like head lunged forward in a powerful butt that knocked him senselessly to the ground, the sword spilling from his fingers and being kicked aside by a cloven hoof. He stared up as the Gor lifted its axe overhead in a cruelly efficient executioner's blow, only to have a weapon whistle through the air and cleave its head from its shoulders. As blood fountained into the air, drenching Hans in a grisly air, the body slumped to the ground and revealed the Gor's killer- a hulking Orc. Hans froze, waiting for the Greenskin to take his life as well, but it simply grunted dismissively before turning and running off.

Ranma grabbed the Bestigor he was facing by the neck and, pausing only to send the Chaos Hound that was snapping at his feet flying with a kick, twisted until bones snapped and the body spilled lifelessly from his uncaring fingers. Staving in the skull of an Ungor that blundered into his path with a casual backhand, twisting around a spear and shattering the arm of its Centigor wielder, he was at the walls in a few steps, and over them in a single leap. He was going to find the leader of this warband and, once he'd finished taking out his rage about the dead humans he could see scattered all around, he was going to use his skull as a drinking cup.

Greta whimpered softly, backing into a corner with the children behind her, trying to press away from the leering mutant currently menacing her in her own kitchen. She made a clumsy swipe with the butchering knife she'd picked up almost by accident, but the swing was nowhere near impressive- least of all to a creature like this. It smirked at her, deliberately fingering its own rusty dagger in a menacing manner. And that was when the windows suddenly exploded and a group of yowling, yipping things came swarming through the shattered openings.

As she and the children watched, the Beastmen was buried beneath a writhing, squealing mass of green and brown. The heap squirmed and rippled, and a pool of red began to trickle from beneath. As Greta blinked, she realised that the creatures were Goblins and they had not only slain the mutant but were now squabbling over the loot. Cries of "mine!" and "gerroff!" erupted from the mound until finally it collapsed into a sprawl of diminutive Greenskins, which grabbed frantically for their weapons before swarming back out of the house.

Widge was happy. That was not unusual; Widge was an Orc whose tastes were simple even by Greenskin standards, not to mention the fact he was fighting and that meant he was happy by standard definition, but Widge was more happy than usual. He didn't really know why he was happy, but for some strange reason he was just so happy that, as he walked through the battle-torn streets crushing Beastmen skulls and breaking Beastmen bones with swings of his favourite mace, he whistled jauntily, a talent he'd picked up from Ranma one day. As an Ungor stumbled into his path, clutching a stomach wound just inflicted by a nearby human swordsman, Widge flattened its skull and walked on, still whistling, past the startled human. Though exactly why he was shocked was hard to say; it might have been because Widge ignored him or because Widge had started singing "Whistle while you work".

Heinrich was confused and then some. While the Greenskins were hauling into the Beastmen with their trademark enthusiasm for bloodshed and carnage, they were completely ignoring the humans- he'd seen Greenskins who had a perfect opportunity to kill inhabitants of the town simply turn away and ignore them. He shook off the confusion to confront the far more serious matter of the four Bestigor currently facing him. With a final mystical gesture, he felt the strength of a wild bull surge through his veins. Clutching his spear, he snarled at the Beastmen; now he'd show them…

"Waaagh!"

And that was when something fell from the sky like a thunderbolt, landing on one Bestigor and bearing it to the ground in a blur of bone-shattering force. In a blur of movement that was almost too fast for Heinrich to follow, the figure lashed out at the nearest Bestigor, sending it flying through the air to sprawl onto the ground, its head lolling obscenely on a shattered neck. Another was seized by an arm and flipped over to hit the ground, whereupon the figure yanked its arm up and twisted, producing a gristly crunching before allowing it to slump to the ground, spine broken. The final Bestigor turned to run, only to be seized from behind and have its head torn off and flung down to the other end of the street. And that was when the figure finally allowed Heinrich to see it, whereupon his jaw dropped in disbelief.

The creature was human. Clad in strange clothing that had definitely seen better days, considering that it was now badly torn, filthy and drenched in blood, he smiled at him with a strangely innocent, child-like grin, blue eyes glittering in a way that would have been considered endearing- if the boy's face wasn't splattered with blood, bone fragments and chunks of flesh. The boy also wore a crude metal skullcap, set around with six horns in a pattern that gave it a strange resemblance to a crown, and a stone bracelet engraved with crude, Orcish glyphs. As Heinrich stared at this apparition it spoke, in a voice that was blurred with a definitely Orcish phrase of tongue, not to mention an accent Heinrich had never heard before.

"Sorry about interrupting yer fun; but first come, first serve. Ya alright?"

"I-I'm fine, but who the hell are you?"

"I'm Ranma Saotome. Me an' the boyz was in the neighbourhood, saw the beastie-boyz and thought we'd drop in and give ya'z a hand giving them a kicking. From what I've seen, looks like it's fortunate for you we did."

"Who? What?"

"My boyz! I'm the Big Boss of the Fikskull tribe! Those are my Greenskins bashing them stinking Beastmen."

Heinrich was speechless- this human, no, this child, claimed to be leader of an Orc tribe? Was he insane? And how the heck did he fight like that? He was about to voice these questions and more when a furious roar interrupted him. There, at the end of the street, was the towering Doombull who had led these Beastmen to attack this hamlet in the first place. The human –Ranma, wasn't that what he'd said his name was?– was staring at the beast, eyes wide as an appreciative whistle slipped between his lips.

"That one's mine!"

Before Heinrich could say or do anything, the boy had literally leapt down the street, covering the distance between himself and the Doombull in one massive leap. As Heinrich watched, the Doombull bellowed in fury before charging at Ranma, who nimbly sidestepped its charge, hammering upon its ribs with an eye-wateringly fast volley of punches as it charged past. It roared as it wheeled frantically, hooves slipping in the vile gruel of blood and soil the streets had become, and it was while it was off-balance that Ranma leapt forward, planting a massive kick in its chest that sent it skidding across the ground.

Heinrich was forced to use his own magically augmented strength to hurl himself to safety, ending up watching from the top of a nearby roof as perhaps the mightiest clash he had ever seen took place. So intense was he on watching as Ranma fought the Doombull that he failed to notice he had company until one particularly spectacular manoeuvre caused a chorus of cheers to erupt from the Greenskins currently perched on the roof with him. They yelled encouragement and suggestions as Ranma battered and smashed the creature with bare hands and feet, flesh sloughing away under his ungentle attentions. The Doombull finally managed to seize Ranma by the foot, hurling him away like a petulant child with a toy it no longer wanted, but Ranma casually flipped himself to land effortlessly upon the soggy ground.

The Doombull did not take this very well, screaming in fury it slammed itself against a nearby house, smashing through the wall and bringing it toppling down in its fury. Heinrich gasped as a young girl, she couldn't have been more then seven years old, was forced to flee from the crumbling remains of her home. The Doombull howled like a Daemon as she slipped in the muck, twisting to stare up at it in horror as it prepared to hammer her into the mud with its immense fists.

And that was when a thick glob of muck came sailing through the air to splat in the Doombull's face, temporarily blinding it as Ranma leapt forward to grab the girl and haul her from the mud. However, his attempt to spring away and carry her to safety was disrupted by the Doombull managing to clear the mud from its eyes; it swiped a taloned hand at Ranma's back as he sprung away, sending him spinning to smash against a wall. Amazingly, he twisted to take the full brunt of the impact, sliding to the ground and releasing his grip with a grunt as the girl immediately fled, the watching Greenskins howling and screaming wordlessly as Ranma, somewhat dazedly, pulled himself to his feet.

He met the raging Doombull roughly in the middle of the distance the two had been separated by, ducking beneath a bludgeoning fist to spring upwards in a jaw-shattering uppercut. The two slugged it out brutally, Ranma finally managing to topple the beast to the ground whereupon he began hammering it relentlessly until, finally, it stopped moving. Heaving with exhaustion, Ranma slipped off its bruised, battered corpse and raised his arm in a gesture of triumph. Around Heinrich, the Greenskins began to whoop and cheer, the chorus actually being taken up by those villagers who had come out of hiding to witness the battle.

Ranma inhaled deeply, preparing to voice the battlecry, only to be cut off by a sudden fit of violent coughing. He looked at his hand, somewhat numb, and realised that those red spatters on his fingers were blood. His vision beginning to blur and go fuzzy, Ranma tried to bellow, but the words came out soft and weak.

"Gitzduffd? I… dun feel so goo…"

Eyes closing, Ranma slumped to the ground, blood pouring from the great gashes in his back as the Greenskins broke into an uproar…

_Okay, now I know this ending sucked. In other news, I was considering having Ranma head westwards till he was a safe distance from Wolfenburg, then head southwards, passing through the Moot (possibly) and Sylvania before stopping at the entrance to the Border Princes. From there, do you want me to take him West, towards Bretonnia, or continue going South towards the Southlands?_


	8. Chapter 8

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** as I've had several requests to do a chapter showing what's going on back in Nerima, and seeing as there's some details on how to "climax" the cliffhanger from the previous chapter I need to figure out, I decided to set this chapter back in Nerima. If you want a Nerimite (or more than one) to end up sent to the Warhammer world and ending up in the path of Ranma's Waaagh, then let me know.

Also, consider this a second chance to vote on the boots/gauntlets from chapter 7. The next chapter is a finalisation, so review if you want them… Also, I'm now taking suggestions for a name for Ranma's Wyvern.

Oh, and I forgot to do a Warhammer Translation in the previous chapter; no one complained, but remember, if there's something you don't know what it is, just ask and I'll explain it here, okay?

Centigor: sub-species of Beastman, resembling a Gor from the waist up and, from the waist down, some form of vaguely horse-like quadruped.

Minotaur: powerful race of mutant creatures that resemble an ogre-sized (7-8ft tall) human with the head of a bull. Savage, bloodthirsty and cannibalistic, they are revered by the Beastmen and in times of "peace" serve as guardians of Chaos Shrines hidden in the woodlands. A Doombull is a Minotaur Lord, even bigger, stronger and fiercer than an ordinary Minotaur.

Chapter 8: Meanwhile, Back in Nerima…

Akane gasped for breath, her lungs and muscles aching from exertion as she fled through the byways and alleyways of Nerima. Her eyes darted around frantically, in desperate search of her pursuers, the four people who had chased her relentlessly for several days now, several days devoid of food and rest, several days weighing heavily upon her mind. Seeing no one, she wheezed a sigh of relief and allowed her eyes to close, slumping down against the wall. And that was when the wall suddenly exploded behind her.

"A-KA-NE!"

Akane rolled desperately as her attacker, none other than the Chinese Amazon known as Shampoo, swiped at her with her bonbori. Clumsily staggering to her feet, she fled towards one opening, only to be intercepted by a barrage of throwing spatulas. Ukyo, fully dressed for war, leapt down from a nearby roof to stand in the doorway, battle spatula primed and ready to take a swing at her rival. With a faint tapping noise, the diminutive form of Cologne dropped from nowhere to land in the middle of the only other way out, her gaze blank and cold as a howling blizzard. Surrounded on all three fronts, Akane's head twisted frantically backwards and forwards as she looked for a way –any way– to escape.

The light suddenly grew dim, and with a steadily increasing feeling of impending doom Akane looked upwards. There, standing on the rooftop above her, in a position where he was little more than a dark silhoute with glasses agleam in the darkness ala Gendo Ikari, was Genma Saotome. Any hopes that he might be a possible ally died stillborn; Akane could feel the menace radiating from him like waves of bitter cold. Tired, exhausted, beaten in all ways but physically, Akane fell unconscious.

"Wake up! Stupid Akane, wake up now!"

Akane's ability to register, albeit barely, the angry voice of Shampoo was the first sign of her return to consciousness. However, she didn't fully return to wakefulness until someone splashed her in the face with the contents of a bucket of cold water. Gasping and spluttering, she was awake in an instant, though incapable of focusing on anything around her until after she coughed up the water that had seeped into her lungs. Hacking and spitting, she looked up to see the grimly smirking figure of Ukyo toss aside the empty bucket as she stepped back into the semi-circle formed by herself, Shampoo, Cologne and Genma. It was Genma who stepped forward next, staring at her with seriousness and a genuine hint of rage, a far cry from the melodramatic but essentially harmless buffoon he normally behaved like.

"This is getting old Akane, so just tell us. Where. Is. Ranma?"

"I keep telling you, I don't know! He just, he just, disappeared that day!"

"Do you think we're idiots girl? I'll admit I was a lousy father to him, but I'm still the boy's father- do you really think I wouldn't have noticed if the stress was starting to get to him? Do you believe I would have missed the symptoms that he was about to do a runner, even though he's never run away from any challenge in his life?"

A resounding cry of "Yes!" erupted from not only Akane, but also the three women on Genma's side, sending him smashing into the café's floor in a perfect facefault. Pulling himself to his feet, he paused only to throw an ineffectual glare at them before returning his attention to Akane.

"No, Ranma doesn't run- or even if he does, he wasn't that stressed yet. Your original claims, that he ran off with one of his other fiancées, is obviously false- why else would they be helping me to interrogate you? And frankly, those claims of yours that he was with the Kunos, or that he'd hit his head again and run off with one his rivals thinking he was a real girl, were both absolutely ridiculous."

"Not to mention disgusting." Ukyo growled, Shampoo nodding her head in fierce agreement. Cologne pogoed forward, at which Genma stepped back to allow the matriarch to perform her form of interrogation.

"Enough girl. We grow tired of this. Either tell us what happened, or I will have no alternative other than to use the ancient methods handed down amongst the Joketsuzoku tribe."

"Great-grandmother no is serious! Those methods is forbidden!" Shampoo gasped in horror, Ukyo looking startled as she looked between the two Chinese Amazons. Genma's expression was so cold and blank it could have been diecast from steel. Akane began to sweat with fear as Cologne simply stared at her like a gargoyle wrought from flesh, bone and cloth- albeit no less ugly for that. Finally, she turned to begin pogoing away, and that was when Akane's nerve finally broke.

"Stop! I'll talk! I'll talk! You see, on that day, we fought and as we were coming home from school I got this ring and, and, and…" Akane was babbling now, desperate to try and ward off whatever unspeakable torture Cologne was preparing to administer. Unable to make sense of Akane's gibberish, Cologne hopped around behind her and struck a pressure point on the back of her head.

"Now child, tell us what happened."

Much to Akane's shock, she found herself speaking calmly and precisely, not to mention unwillingly.

"On the day Ranma disappeared, we were fighting as usual. On the way home, we were separated for a moment. While he was out of sight, I stumbled across this weird street vendor, who sold me the ring now adorning my left thumb. He told me that it would grant me a single wish. Then a fierce wind blew up and, when I could see again, the stall was gone. That was when Ranma finally found me. When he heard about what had happened, he began begging me to wish for a cure to his Jusenkyo curse. I was so angry with him that eventually I slapped him, wishing that he would just go away. There was a blinding flash, and when I could see again Ranma was nowhere to be seen."

As Akane stopped speaking Cologne looked grim, her tiny hands suddenly darting out to seize Akane's thumb and roughly yank the ring from it, eliciting a yelp of pain from the Tendo girl as the Joketsuzoku matriarch studied the ring. She scowled suddenly, lashing out with her staff to catch Akane a resounding blow on the head.

"You idiot! This is one of the legendary Rings of Chaos! Do you realise what you've done? You've erased Ranma from the face of the earth!"

"She's WHAT!" the others shouted, Akane herself looking horrified. Cologne nodded grimly and explained herself.

"No one amongst the Joketsuzoku knows where they came from, in fact, nobody mortal or otherwise knows where they came from, but their purpose is indisputable. The Rings of Chaos feed upon chaotic energies, the underlying mystical element of acts of randomness and bizarreness, and coalesce those energies into a more solid form. Through this concentrated chaos energy, they can literally rewrite reality in any method the user wishes; curing Jusenkyo curses is well within their abilities. We of the Joketsuzoku are sworn to tracking these wretched things down and locking them away, out of the hands of the innocent, the ignorant and the idiotic."

"But why? I mean, if these things are so powerful…"

"They are powerful, yes, but they're also very dangerous- as Akane's thoughtless action has proven! They function by unleashing pure, concentrated blasts of chaos energy, and that makes them cause chaos by their very nature. I'm not sure, but I think something like this has happened before… I believe the legend has it that using a Ring of Chaos to banish someone sends them to the domain of the Ring's creator, some sort of monstrous deity located in some nightmarish other dimension."

"Why don't we just, you know, wish Ranchan back?" asked Ukyo. Shampoo, Akane and Genma all nodded in agreement, while Cologne simply shook her head sadly.

"Unfortunately, a Ring of Chaos can only unleash a single wish before needing to recharge, and that will take some time. It needs to draw upon the chaotic energies of its surroundings to recharge."

"So what's the problem? Nerima is a pretty weird place."

"True, that means the Ring will only take a few months, rather than a few years."

"WHAT!" the others shouted in disbelief.

"But what if Airen get hurt wherever he is? What we do then?"

"There's nothing we can do. The only thing that can affect a wish made on a Ring of Chaos is another such wish. And the council won't release any of its rings even to bring back as desirable a potential member as Ranma. I'm sorry Shampoo, but there's nothing we can do other than wait and hope."

Shampoo and Ukyo looked dumbstruck, as did Akane- no matter how much she may have protested that she didn't love Ranma, that didn't mean she wanted him gone forever. Cologne turned and lashed out with her staff, using a "blade" of wind pressure to slice apart the ropes binding Akane to her seat. Genma walked over and grasped her firmly by the shoulder.

"I'll take her home. Tendo and I are going to have a long and serious talk about these matters, especially in regards to the marriage arrangement."

"Ranma is gone and you still want him marry stupid Akane! Is you crazy?"

"I'm with her! She's the reason Ranchan's gone in the first place! How can you be stupid enough to insist that the marriage be upheld! I mean, it's plainly obvious she doesn't love him- what's to prevent something like this happening again?"

"Firstly, Ranma will come back- he's gotten through harder challenges than this before, and I'm confident he will at least survive long enough for us to wish him back, if not actually find his own way back. Secondly, the arrangement is only that he marry a Tendo girl- not necessarily Akane."

Akane swallowed nervously, the true enormity of how badly she had screwed up finally hitting her- if Genma was willing to consider transferring the engagement from her to one of her sisters, she truly must have angered him. She didn't say anything- firstly because she couldn't think of anything to say, secondly because Shampoo and Ukyo were both glowering at her, plainly itching for any excuse to give her a beating. Cologne, having pogoed into the back, suddenly pogoed back into the room, a pair of pet cages in her hands.

"Take these with you. Neither of them is wanted here."

Akane blinked in confusion, which cleared up when she got a better look at the contents of the cages. In the first was a sullen Mu-Mu-chan; whilst in the second was a nervously shivering…

"P-chan…" she snarled. When Genma, Cologne and the other fiancées had started chasing her, Ryoga had tried to intervene only to have Cologne dispatch him by splashing him with cold water, transforming him into P-chan and finally revealing his long-secret Jusenkyo curse to Akane. Naturally, she'd been furious- it was only the fact that she was currently fleeing in fear for her life that had prevented her from seizing the pig and making pork sauce out of him. Glaring at him with icy daggers in her eyes, she roughly seized the cage containing Mousse's cursed form from Cologne, eliciting a quack of protest from the hapless Chinese Amazon.

"You can keep that one- I want absolutely nothing to do with him! Do you hear me you disgusting pervert of a pig? I never want to see you again!"

Ryoga stopped trembling to stare at Akane in disbelief as she stormed out of the Cat Café with Mousse, Genma following close behind, and a tear trickled down his snout. So overwhelmed by misery and despair was he that he didn't really hear the conversation breaking out about him- or, if he did hear, he certainly didn't care.

"So what are we going to do with you now?" Cologne asked, idly giving the miserable piglet a once over.

"Make Cantonese Sweet Sour Pork?" Shampoo suggested with a shrug of her shoulders.

"That's disgusting! He might be a pitiful excuse for a human being, but that doesn't mean Ryoga deserves to end up as a meal!" Ukyo spluttered. Shampoo looked at her with a knowing smirk.

"Ukyo want him? Maybe make good mascot?"

She gave Ukyo a look that, in Ukyo's opinion, should not be given by a girl. She shook her head quickly, prompting Shampoo to look thoughtful.

"Shampoo think she have idea…"

The Kuno mansion was a vast and sprawling estate, and normally Shampoo would have given the place a wide berth- the single experience she'd had here, when she'd followed Ranma and Ryoga into its trap-riddled depths in search of an urn that contained a map to a Japanese version of the Nannichuan, had been traumatic enough. However, these were not normal times, as evidenced by the fact she willing leapt over the great walls with a pet carrier in one hand.

"Crazy girl? Is crazy ribbon girl home? Ugly moron? Stupid stick-boy? Anyone?"

Shampoo's danger sense sent her leaping away seconds before Kodachi's trademark ribbon slashed at the spot where she had been, the crazed Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnast's ear-splitting laughter ringing through the air as she bounded into view.

"So, you dare to trespass upon the Kuno Estate once more, you low-born Gaijin? I, Kodachi 'the Black Rose' Kuno, will make you regret your foolishness!"

"Wait! Shampoo no come to fight ribbon girl! Shampoo bring gift!"

Shampoo eagerly handed over the pet carrier to the unimpressed Kodachi, who looked even less impressed after looking inside to see the dejected P-chan.

"I am sorry, but my Mr. Green Turtle only eats the choices cuts of meat. I can't give him this."

"Is no food for stupid crocodile, is servant for ribbon girl."

Kodachi blinked in confusion, looked at Shampoo, looked at P-chan, then looked back at Shampoo again.

"Servant? It's a pig."

"Is not." Shampoo said, in a rather childish tone of voice. Kodachi shook her head gently.

"My dear peasant girl, contrary to the rumours, I am not stupid. Even my dear dimwit of a brother would admit that this creature is a piglet."

"Splash with hot water, then you see. Shampoo go now."

Before Kodachi could say or do anything, Shampoo had bounded away in one of the massive leaps that were the unofficial trademark of all true Nerimite martial artists. She looked at P-chan speculatively; what had she been talking about hot water for? This warranted investigation…

Meanwhile, a palpable aura of darkness hung over the Tendo Dojo. Akane had been unofficially confined upstairs, while down below her family conferred with Genma and Happosai, discussing the future of the Tendo/Saotome arrangement. Not to mention her own future. Beside her, in the pet carrier that she had absentmindedly placed on her bed, Mu-mu-chan let out a plaintive quack. In need of someone to talk to, someone who wouldn't judge her, she gently opened the door. Mousse exited the carrier with quiet dignity, looking up at her in confusion. She smiled at him, a sad, gentle smile.

"Come on- let's get you human again. I could use someone to talk to."

To their mutual surprise, she gently scooped him up in her arms and walked from her room to the bathroom. There, she filled the furo with hot water and placed him down on the stone. Rather than leap into the hot water, he stared up at her expectantly, puzzling her until she remembered that Mousse would be naked when he changed back. A blush suffusing her cheeks, she quickly turned around, listening as Mousse gently leapt into the furo with a faint splash, followed by a strange series of sounds as he got out, dried himself off and dressed himself- though she had to wonder where he got the clothes from. When she dared to turn around, Mousse was standing there with a puzzled expression.

"Why?"

"Because right now, I could use someone to talk to. And frankly, we're both the only option we have."

_(Blinks) Okay, what was I doing with this chapter again? I think I lost track of myself… maybe right from the beginning. Ah well, next chapter returns to Ranma and the Fikskulls, so please don't let this temporary drop in quality put you off! The next chapter will be better- though as it's rather lacking in combat, maybe not so much… oh well…_


	9. Chapter 9

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** Just making a random observation; has anyone ever done a Darkstalkers/Ranma ½ crossover? Specifically, a romance between Mousse and Hsien-ko? That's an idea I wouldn't mind seeing used myself…

Anyway, the end of the cliffhanger from chapter 7- hope it doesn't disappoint. Also, given the reactions, it doesn't look like I'll be bringing anyone from Nerima to Warhammer- that's actually a good thing, seeing as it'd probably signify me breaking down quality wise. On another topic, as people have been asking me about Ranma finding a new girl(s) in Warhammer, I started thinking. How about a "Warhammer Fiancée Brigade"? Four Warhammer girls, of differing species, who all want Ranma in some way or another? If you think this is an idea, then suggest members; currently the only potential one I have is the female Blood Dragon- the "Kodachi" of the bunch.

Chapter 9: Cycles and Changes

It was the second day since the Greenskins had come to town, and the tension was still so thick you could cut it with a knife. After Ranma had gone down, there had been panic and uproar amongst the Greenskins, which had abated only after the Orc Shaman –what was it that he was called? Gitzduffd?– had jumped down from the roof to proclaim that Ranma was still alive. The boy was currently occupying the guest bed in Heinrich's house, the Shaman refusing to leave his side, while the rest of the Greenskins camped outside the village. Heinrich had helped patch up the boy's back –how could he not after how the kid had gotten hurt?– but he still hadn't regained consciousness, despite the treatments of both himself and Gitzduffd. And that was not good news; the Greenskins weren't attacking because one of Ranma's last orders had been that they weren't to hurt any of the villagers. If he died, what would keep them from levelling the village in revenge?

In fact, that was one of the most unusual things about this situation- the respect they held for Ranma was beyond that Heinrich had believed Greenskins to be capable of holding. Well, true, it seemed to be from more the Orcs, the Troll and the Giant, but they could easily browbeat –or just beat- the Goblins into cooperating. Firstly was the fact that, even though Ranma had fallen in that battle with the Doombull, the only discontented mutterings were about how he'd actually fallen in the first place. There had been one close moment when a particularly angry Orc had started hunting for the girl Ranma had saved, blaming her for his wounds. While this was technically true, Heinrich hadn't been about to let a little girl suffer for an accident. He hadn't even needed to intervene though; the Orc had quickly disappeared beneath a mound of his fellows, who'd beaten him into unconsciousness. Whilst unusual itself, it was what they'd said whilst fighting him that really stuck out in his mind.

"Have ya got a deffwish or somefing? Da boss wud kill ya when he found out!"

And then there was the matter of the corpses. The Greenskins had taken all the bodies of the dead and had, over the past two days, been cooking and eating them- which definitely wasn't making the villagers feel any better. However, there had been an argument over whether or not they should take the human corpses as well. The villagers had, naturally, protested the idea of having the bodies of their neighbours and loved ones disappearing down Greenskin throats, but the argument had finally been settled when Gitzduffd had stepped forward and spoke a single sentence, with all the solemnity of a priest delivering the messages of a god.

"Ranma wudn't like it."

Once that had been said, the Greenskins had immediately given up on trying to take the human corpses. It seemed that when "The Boss" was invoked, that meant the declaration was law. However when "Ranma" was invoked, then it may as well have been handed down from the gods- the Greenskins would protest if it was just "the boss", but there was no arguments against "Ranma". Heinrich shook his head in disbelief; how could one person inspire that much respect? Especially in Greenskins? Finally, he reached his house- he'd been with a town council that had been trying to figure out what they were going to do with all these Greenskins hanging around. Heinrich had advocated just leaving them alone; he was positive that once their leader was up and about, the Greenskins would leave. The Shaman, who as usual was second-in-command in all but name, had sworn that was what would happen, and Heinrich –for some reason he couldn't explain– believed him.

"How is he?" he asked his wife, who simply shook his head. With a faint sigh he strode into the guest room, fighting down his instinctive reaction at the sight of a wizen Orc squatting beside the bed on which the unconscious boy lay. The Orc's hand was upon the back of the boy's head, a strangely tender gesture- especially given what it was. He looked up at Heinrich and shook his own head.

"I dun't know whut's wrong… I fawt dat maybe dere was somefing busted inside, but it ain't dat…"

"How can you tell?"

"I'z a Shaman stoopid! I'z got magic ov me own. Nah, dere's somefing else wrong wit him… I jus' wish I knew whut it woz!"

Gitzduffd snarled in genuine frustration, Heinrich nodding sympathetically, though in truth his concern was more for the village if Ranma died under his care.

"But maybe I'z goin' about dis da wrong way… maybe it ain't da flesh dat's da problem- maybe it's da spirit."

"Perhaps. He took a pretty serious blow and I've heard of people who, even though they physically healed from such attacks, still died anyway." Heinrich agreed. Gitzduffd nodded twice, then slowly rose from his squatting position, bones cracking and popping as he did so. Heinrich was startled to realise just how old the Orc Shaman looked as Gitzduffd gently placed his staff besides Ranma before sitting down upon the floor, legs crossed, and assuming a meditative position. Bleary red eyes blinked, slowly, before sliding shut and his chest ceased to rise and fall.

Gitzduffd opened his eyes with patient ease, and then grinned broadly as the familiar shifting colours and auras of the Great Green unveiled itself before him. He leapt to his feet with great ease; the pains and weakness of his old body had no place here in the spirit-realm. He resolutely set out in search of Ranma; he knew that the Boss was here somewhere- he could feel it in the ripples of the Waaagh. He would find him, and lead him back to his body, and then everything would be well. He just hoped Ranma was all right; the Great Green could be a dangerous place…

Ranma snarled to himself; he had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten here or how long he'd been here, but he was definitely getting some serious training done. His latest opponent, a giant boar –and by "giant" we're talking "look Ranma in the eyes without needing to lift his head"– snorted straight back at him, pushing forward in an attempt to shove him back, Ranma's stubborn resistance digging slight gouges in the soil before he pushed the boar back into its starting position. Ranma had seized it by the tusks, which were so big they could be horns from some bullock, and they were so sharp that even though he'd seized them near the base they were slicing into his hands. Ranma ignored the pain- he was covered with bruises and small nicks and cuts from previous opponents, and he wasn't fit to call himself a martial artist if he couldn't focus past such minor pains.

"Come one- give up already. This is pointless."

The boar voiced a sound that was equal parts squeal, roar and flatulence, causing Ranma to gag on the fetid stench- though it wasn't enough to make him lose his grip.

"You're even stubborner than Ryoga… alright, if that's the way you want to play it…"

He stopped pushing and suddenly pulled forward, willingly surrendering his footing to fall over onto his back, using the manoeuvre to slid his legs under the boar's stomach so that he could use its momentum against it, kicking upwards to send the hulking beast flying through the air to crash headfirst into a giant boulder, shattering it into rubble. As it struggled to its feet, Ranma immediately flipped himself upright and smirked; this battle was all but won.

In his exploration of this world, he'd discovered that the strange, omnipresent green mist was in fact a strange form of ki, like great clouds of loosely drifting battle aura. Some of his opponents had demonstrated an ability to "draw" this ki to themselves, and then mould it to their will. And imitation was a speciality of the Anything-Goes school. Ranma too could now draw upon these ki clouds, and while he was yet to truly master their usage he did have one technique that had proven itself brutally effective.

Taking a stance, positioning his hands as though he was holding something spherical between them, he focused his mind and spirit, drawing the mist around him into the space between his hands. As the boar wheeled and began charging at him, he smirked before twisting his hands, the gesture accompanied by a pulse of will that sent the concentrated ki erupting from the focus point like a great emerald lance composed of equal parts mist, flame and lightning. Literally screaming through the air, it struck the charging boar in mid-gallop like a thunderbolt, exploding in a great green blast. When the glare faded, the boar was gone. Ranma grinned and made a "V" sign, only to whirl as he heard someone clapping from behind him.

Standing behind him were two of the biggest Orcs he'd seen, even in this place. One was completely encased from head to toe in the crude but effective Orc equivalent of full-plat, while the other was equally impressive in his Shaman garb, which incorporated bodyparts from boars, wolves and giant spiders. Ranma slipped out of his fighting stance when they failed to hurl themselves at him like berserkers; though he didn't doubt he and they would fight, it didn't hurt to be courteous until they went berserk. The Shaman grinned at him, while the warrior grunted.

"Not bad… fer a little runt anywayz."

"Thanks. You want to tell me who you are, or do we just skip straight to business?"

"Whut biznezz?"

"Fighting, obviously. I have no idea how long I've been here, but I've been challenged so often I'm beginning to really feel at home. So shall we dance, or do you want to just give up now?"

"Cocky little runt, ain't ya?"

"It ain't cockiness if ya got the skill to back it up."

"Yoo think yer good?"

"Da best."

"We'll see 'bout dat!" the warrior snarled, drawing his greataxe and charging towards Ranma. The martial artist direction a cautious glance towards the Shaman, but he simply grinned back and settled down on his haunches to watch as Ranma backflipped away from the stroke of his opponent's blade. Ranma was impressed despite himself; his opponent's strength clearly dwarfed Ryoga's, and his speed was almost a match for his own. The resultant battle was truly a clash of the titans as blows were traded and dodged with inhuman ferocity and initiative, Ranma's incredible agility and aerial manoeuvres countered by his opponent's thick armour and great stubbornness. Finally, deciding that his ability to hurt his opponent directly was inadequate, Ranma resorted to a more tactical method. His next blow struck the shaft of his opponent's weapons and shattered it to pieces, with Ranma leaping upwards to catch the flying axe head and hurl it at his enemy as an impromptu missile.

His opponent almost managed to catch the axe head. Almost. Instead it whistled past him, slicing a small gash in his shoulder as it did so. The Orc bellowed thunderously –more in shock than pain– and instinctively clapped a gauntleted hand onto the gash. When he withdrew it, there was a smear of blood upon the palm. He stared at it, then at Ranma, then at the bloodstain again before he began to laugh, a soft guttural chuckle at first, then building up into bust-a-gut guffaws. As the Shaman began to join in, Ranma warily left his fighting stance before the warrior casually walked up to him and gave him a good-natured clap on the shoulder, severely bruising him in the process.

"Yer a tough 'un alright! Okay humie, ya got me blessin's now! Consider yerself an honorary Orc!"

"I told ya he was wun ov us Gork."

"Well, he just proved ya right Mork. Come on bruvva, we'z got fings ta do. See ya later Ranma."

The warrior and the Shaman began walking away, disappearing into nothingness before Ranma could ask how they knew his name. As he stared after them in disbelief, he heard someone calling him from behind.

"Ranma! Boss Ranma! Iz yoo here?"

"Gitzduffd? Is that you? I'm over here!"

As the emerald mists parted, the figure of Ranma's personal Shaman emerged amidst them, looking strangely youthful and full of vigour as he literally ran towards Ranma.

"Boss Ranma, iz I glad ta see ya! I fawt ya might be in trouble."

"A few fights, but nothing I couldn't handle. Plus I've picked up a new trick."

He focused the ambient ki of this place into the palm of his hand, grinning at the shocked look on Gitzduffd's face. The old Shaman shook his head in disbelief.

"I knew ya could handle yerself, but yer really full ov surprises, ain't ya? Come on, we best getcha back ta yer body; yoo've been in da Great Green fer two days now."

"Two days? Wait, the Great Green? Is that where we are?"

"Yep. Da Great Green. Da realm ov da spirits. Dis is where us Shamans getz our powers from. But it'z dangerous fer living spirits ta be here, so come on. I'z got just enuff power ta send ya back to yer body."

"Wait a minute, what about you?"

"I ain't comin' back. I'z old boss, old 'n' tired. Da Great Green's been callin' me fer a while now. I stuck around long enuff to help ya out, but ya don't need me no more."

"But!"

"Dun't try ta stop me boss, it ain't gonna work 'ere. Now go; da boyz iz gonna need ya to tell 'em what ta do, and dem humies is startin' ta get edgy. Yer needed back dere."

"I… alright. I'm gonna miss ya Gitzduffd."

"I'z gonna miss ya too boss. Now go on; git outta here."

Gitzduffd's hands glowed with an ethereal green light and he gently touched Ranma on the shoulder, smiling as the glow spread to suffuse the human's body, which then faded away from sight. His last duty discharged, Gitzduffd turned and walked away into the depths of the Great Green, looking for the place of Shamans.

Heinrich had been growing bored; nothing had happened for hours. Until now; the Orc Shaman's body had begun to glow with a brilliant green light, forcing Heinrich to shield his eyes. When he could see again, the Shaman's body had disappeared, his clothing and regalia now lying in an empty mound on the floor. As he stared in confusion, he heard a groan that attracted his attention to the bed, where the child was now slowly pushing himself off the bed.

"Uh… I feel as bad as Akane's food tastes…"

"Um… Ranma Saotome?"

"Don't call me that anymore… call me… Ranma da Weird…"

_Hope this chapter wasn't too disappointing. Anyway, thank you to reviewer "Booyah", who's given me my first real Waaagh Techniques, which I've reprinted below (sorry, but I had to make a little editing- please don't be offended) along with a few that I've thought up myself, along with one inspired by reviewer "aledeth"._

_Get Mean: Ranma focuses and concentrates Waaagh energy, then "pumps" it back into nearby Greenskins to increase strength, endurance, ferocity and healing rate._

_Giant's Stomp: a Waaagh-empowered diving or flying kick- with a massive concussive blast in attendance, this attack can smash a castle wall into rubble._

_Big Boss Bellow: channelling Waaagh energy into his lungs and vocal cords, Ranma can unleash a devastating blast of sonic energy, which rips up the ground and can tear flesh from bone._

_Troll Power: Ranma "knits" Waaagh energy into his own ki to regenerate and replace missing tissue._

_Gitbuster: a Moko Takabisha-style direct blast of concentrated Waaagh energy. Needless to say, this can be quite effective._

_I'z Da Boss: essentially a mimicry of Happosai's "Giant Mode" special attack, only powered by Waaagh energy instead of the user's ki. This means that Ranma can get much, much larger._

_Claws ov Mork: Ranma focuses and blasts Waaagh energy in the shape of a giant ghostly Orc hand. Though initially just a blast of energy, Ranma learns how to use this technique as a "telekinetic third hand"; using the hand to pick up, move, punch and crush objects whilst he directs it with his mind._


	10. Chapter 10

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** okay, Masked Critic's against the idea of a "Warhammer Fiancée Brigade", and quite a few are for it. I think you all misunderstood precisely what I intended to do with them though. I'm thinking to have two or three girls (different races preferably) actively pursuing Ranma- though not in the childish method and petty squabbling of the Nerima Fiancée Brigade. These girls make actual, working attempts to impress him- perhaps even going with Masked Critic's suggestion and deciding to share him; I think I'll make it a long-term goal if this idea gets off the ground to have Ranma lose his virginity. But anyway; they definitely won't be beating Ranma up on a daily basis- despite popular belief; even I'm not stupid enough to think he'd stand for that with his current attitude. And the Blood Dragon is less romantically interested in Ranma (unless you count the desire to turn him into her undead spawn romantic) and more pursues him because of injured pride; she's over a century old and hadn't been beaten until she tangled with him.

But anyway, I need ideas on what sort of girls to have go after him. If you can think of any, please tell me via review, PM or (recommended) a topic in my forum- coming up with an actual reason why they start following him in the first place would be appreciated, as it makes them both more believable as a character and easier to fit into the story. Remember, I'll use at most three characters, so if you want me to use your idea, put some detail into them- the better the detail, the greater my interest, the more likely it is I'll use them.

Waaagh techniques are essentially replacement ki techniques; the concept of such fighting techniques doesn't exist in the Warhammer world. And have Gitzduffd come back and posses his staff? Hmm… now there's an idea…

Also, by majority rules, Ranma will be heading for the Southlands- that should take a couple of years (in story) and he will be acquiring the Shockwave Gauntlets and the Ledge Boots. As soon as I can figure out a way for him to get them anyway…

Chapter 10: Go East Ranma! Then Go South! Part 1

"Hey, where the hell is my shirt?" Ranma asked, looking around the small room and unconsciously picking up Gitzduffd's staff as he did so.

"It was torn to shreds, we had to throw it out."

"You what? Damn it; that was my favourite shirt! Not to mention my only one."

"I'm sure we can find you some new clothing. I mean, it is the least we can do to thank you for saving our village…"

"Not to mention the best bribe you can think of to get me and the boyz to clear off, huh? Well, don't worry; I intend on leaving this place… just as soon as my head stops spinning; who knew rejoining body and spirit was so disorientating?"

Ranma placed a hand to his forehead as he spoke this final sentence, the swirling feeling in the back of his eyeballs becoming overwhelming. Heinrich watched as Ranma stood there in silence for about ten seconds before he finally shook his head, the faint glaze disappearing from his eyes and his posture growing more rigid as he regained full control of himself. Despite himself, Heinrich was impressed; spirit/body disjunction was an extremely stressful situation, and to regain perfect control after two days spent separated -and without any training in the matter- was quite a feat.

"Actually, I had a different sort of gift in mind. But first, would you care for some food? My wife has just cooked some roasted rabbit and vegetables- I'm sure there's enough for you as well."

Ranma looked thoughtful, then nodded once. After being led to the dining room, where Heinrich's lightly flustered wife laid out the meal, Ranma simply slouched into a spare chair, still bare-chested, and ate heartily from the bowl of food he was given, completely devoid of anything resembling modesty. As he ate, and both Heinrich and his wife couldn't help but stare at the speed with which he ate, Heinrich's gaze fell upon the stone bracelet adorning Ranma's right wrist. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him.

"What is that thing?"

"This? Just a trinket Gitzduffd made fer me. Nothing special."

"Could I take a look at it? I can sense magical energy resonating from within it."

"You would… well, I dunno…" Ranma looked thoughtfully at the bracelet, idly tracing its glyphs and carvings for several seconds before, silently, he began pulling on it. Much to Heinrich's curiosity, the bracelet grew wider, allowing the human to easily slide it over his hand and pass it over to him. He examined it carefully; though the craftsmanship was far from the most spectacular he'd ever seen, the little thing held quite a large amount of magical energy. He was about to ask Ranma what purpose the bracelet served when his wife, who had been bringing in a jug of water, accidentally tripped and spilled it over their "guest". She quickly began to apologise but stopped dead in her tracks, Heinrich sharing her shock, at the sight of a red-haired –and naked from the waist up– girl sitting where Ranma had been just before.

"Sigmar preserve us!" Heinrich gasped, his wife too shocked to speak. The girl shook herself relatively dry, rather like an animal, looked down at herself and groaned.

"Damn it all! I was almost used to staying in my rightful body all the time! Can I get some hot water? Oh, and I'd like my bracelet back."

Much to Ranma's dismay, the mayor and his wife failed to comply, instead simply reacting in the usual shocked manner of someone confronted by the curse. Ranma sighed heavily; picking up the jug to discover it still had some water in it, she decided to try remedying her situation herself. Casting her mind-senses about, she felt for and discovered another cloud of the strange ki she had learned to manipulate within the Great Green. It was located somewhere beyond the village, but a mental "tug" pulled a streamer of the energy to Ranma. Focusing it within herself, she began channelling it into the jug, heating the water until steam vapour began to issue from within. With a smile, Ranma tipped the now-boiling water upon herself, transforming herself back into a boy. Throughout this he had been ignoring the babbled questions of Heinrich and his wife, but now he was back to normal he chose to answer them.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. It's a long story, but over a year ago, my father foolishly took me to a cursed battleground. There, I picked up a curse of my own; whenever I get splashed with cold water, I become a girl. Hot water will change me back to normal. Gitzduffd made that amulet to try and counter my curse; as long as I'm wearing it, I don't change. Speaking of which, I'd like to have it back now."

Staring at Ranma disbelievingly, Heinrich shook his head and handed it over, Ranma eagerly slipping it back onto his wrist.

"Now what was this bribe- I mean, gift, you wanted to give me? Though first of all, I wouldn't mind some new clothes."

"Ah, yes, quite right. Dear, if you could find some of our son's old clothes that might fit Ranma here, I'll go and get his gift for saving our village."

The Amber Magister eagerly stood up and left the room, leaving Ranma to remain seated until his host's wife regained his senses and showed him to an uninhabited room, containing a chest from which she began pulling out clothes. Nothing really fancy; good, solid clothes made from fur and leather, all of it dyed in earthy, minimal colours- if that. Ranma idly looked them over, missing his Chinese shirt, before pulling on one made from doeskin- a typical woodsman's shirt. He nodded to himself in satisfaction before turning to Heinrich's wife.

"Thanks. I appreciate this."

"Well, it's nowt use t'him where he be. Here, take a few more- ye needs more than one set of clothing. And here's some pants as well. Fine young fellow like you shouldn't be running around naked."

Ranma didn't say anything to that, instead simply accepting the lady's generosity and making a mental note to get his hands on some sort of backpack to carry this stuff in. He'd barely gotten his hands on them when Heinrich walked into the room with a strange looking mass of things in his grasp. Ranma eyed them suspiciously.

"What's that?"

"Your gift. It's a suit of leather armour, constructed from the skin of that Doombull you slew and enchanted with Amber Magic. Here, try it on."

"I don't-"

"I know you don't wear armour, that Orc Shaman told me that while you were unconscious, but leather armour doesn't hinder your movements like metal armour does. My enchantments also make it as strong as Dwarf-forged full-plate as well, so it should come in handy in your next battle."

You had to be as dumb as Kuno to miss the hint in that. Ranma chose not to comment, instead simply taking the armour and putting it on. Well, trying to anyway, after several minutes of struggling with it Heinrich had to give him a hand. Meanwhile, in the Greenskin camp, boredom was beginning to set in. And as anyone who knows anything about Greenskins can tell you; that was a _bad_ thing.

"I'z getting bored Bigtoof. When iz we gonna getz some akshun?"

"When da Boss finally gives da orders, dat's when! Now shurrup! Yoo'z givin' me a 'eadache wit all yer whinin'!"

"Why yoo! C'mere an' say dat!"

"What are ya gonna do ta him, ya snot-eatin' wimp?"

"Yoo stay outa dis!"

Within seconds a brawl had erupted between no less than six Orcs, a brutal battle that spread like wildfire as new Orcs were accidentally kicked in the guts, punched in the face by mistake, trodden on, rolled over, mistook an insult as being directed at them or simply joined in out of boredom. Goblins stood a safe distance away, sniggering with glee as they watched the fun, even going so far as to begin betting amongst themselves over what sort of blow would be traded next and which Orc would be next to get hit, to beat his enemy or to be beaten. Some of the more enthusiastic observers took to occasionally shouting encouragement and insults to stoke the flames of battle.

"Kick 'im in da goolies!"

"Dat's it Ragnutz! Punch 'iz teef out!"

"Somebody kill anybody!"

"Kick everwun in da goolies!"

"Twenny teef dat Lurdo biffs Grunk!"

In fact it wasn't long before the Goblins started brawling amongst themselves as well. Even Bork, Widge and Troglahai caught up in the moment, until the entire Fikskull tribe was writhing on the ground like an itchy squig, the only two not participating being Rocky –who was too thick to know what was going on– and Fergee- who was too big for even the most bored Orc to think about challenging. It was far from the most welcoming sight for Ranma, now clad in Doombull-skin Armour and carrying Gitzduffd's Staff. He shook his head in exasperation.

"I can't leave this lot alone for any time at all, can I? On the other hand, I need to stretch my muscles myself, and it's probably a good idea to see if I can still swing a staff. Which means… WAAAGH!"

Bellowing an enthusiastic warcry, Ranma dove into the fray, staff swinging as he set to the glorious pastime of busting heads and taking names. This was actually a way of killing two birds with one stone… or three squigs with one boulder, as the Goblin saying went. Firstly, it helped Ranma make sure his staff-fighting skills were up to scratch. Secondly, it helped the army get over its boredom, while keeping them from thinking up any dangerous ideas like, say, attacking the villagers. Thirdly, by beating his underlings up, Ranma reaffirmed his place as the Big Boss.

_Sorry this chapter took so long to get up, and that it's so short. A combination of writer's block, denied access and distractions hindered me- I was lucky to get this out. The distraction was because FFN failed to alert me via email that I had gotten any reviews for the last chapter; it was pure luck that I stumbled onto the stats and found you'd been reviewing. I think it's also cut me off from PMs too. I don't know what's wrong with it, but hopefully it'll resolve itself soon. To get back on topic, what opponents do you want Ranma and the Fikskulls to go up against in the next chapter, which is about him heading westwards beyond Wolfenburg; Beastmen, a rival Greenskin tribe, or ending up in a threeway against humans and Beastmen?_


	11. Chapter 11

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** so the problem with FFN isn't just me then? That's a weight off my mind- hopefully it'll get fixed soon. So far, my tentative plan for the ending is to have Ranma sail (or march) off with his tribes to explore the lands of Ind, Cathay and Nippon, after having visited all of the known world (barring the Chaos Wastes, an extensive journey into Naggaroth and possibly Ulthuan). While he'll probably settle down to form the first Greenskin city/empire, he won't be uniting ALL the Greenskin tribes- there's way too many for even him to do that. Also, a new Shaman is intended… perhaps a young female Night Goblin? Really little more than an apprentice herself, but she's the only Shaman her tribe has because the old one blew himself up with a bad batch of fungus beer?

Anyway, still looking for suggestions for Warhammer Fiancées- I intend to have him meet the first one in chapter 15; so you have this chapter and the next three to submit your ideas to me. Just one thing- no female Bretonnian Knights, okay? The only "career" women can pursue in Bretonnia that has a possibility of seeing combat is Damsel of the Lady (wizard). Also, I know the chapter title is different to the one before; I made a mistake in naming the previous chapter, I admit it, but I've taken care of that as well.

Chapter 11: Go East Ranma! Then Go South! Part 2

It had taken a couple of hours for the Fikskulls to recuperate from the brawl to the degree that they could finally pack up camp and move out. Ranma had told the other Greenskins about Gitzduffd's death, which had prompted a respectful silence from the Orcs. Well, as much as Orcs could be respectful. Or silent for that matter. All their belongs now secreted about their personages –as nomads, Greenskins only kept what property they could carry as their own– the tribe formed up into its crude regiments, awaiting Ranma's orders as to which way to go.

"Alright youz! To da east!"

The Fikskulls immediately began slogging forward rapidly, only to be brought to a sharp halt by Ranma's sudden whistle- with a few crashes as well. Ranma waited until they'd all pulled themselves together before shaking his hand and pointing in the opposite direction they'd been heading.

"East is dat way ya zoggin' gitz!"

With embarrassed looks and much shuffling of feet, the tribe was on the march again- this time in the right direction. Ranma shook his head with a faint sigh and quickly took his usual place at the head of the Gitduffers. He almost stopped walking when a thought hit him.

"Hey, where's that little Wyvern of mine?"

"Give a whistle an' he'll come runnin' boss. Just wun fing though…"

Ranma ignored the Orc to simply place his first two right fingers in his mouth and blow an ear-piercing whistle. It had no sooner faded away then an answering call was heard; a fierce and mighty roar. Ranma's eyes widened as the form of his white Wyvern suddenly swooped down from the sky, flaring its wings to land in front of him. The creature had definitely grown while Ranma was in the Great Green; originally the size of a Goblin, it was now tall enough to look Ranma in the eye, though its scales were still the same brilliant white they had been since the moment of its hatching. Ranma blinked twice, then gently reached out to stroke the beast along the back of the head in the manner he knew it was accustomed to and enjoyed. It crooned with pleasure, eyes partially shutting before Ranma had to stop. It flew back up into the sky and lazily circled the Gitduffers while Ranma shook his head once before resuming his journey.

"They grow up so fast."

"Yeah. You ever gonna name dat fing?"

"As soon as I can think of the right name."

It was well into the afternoon now. Other than a quick stop to eat what little rations they'd brought along from the village (aka the cold remnants of roasted corpses), the Fikskulls had done little more than walk through miles of heavy forest. Ranma and his three "lieutenants"; Bork, Widge and Troglahai, had left the main body of the Fikskulls behind in a clearing to rest while they walked ahead to confer on things, such as what to do next and finding replacements for the casualties they had suffered.

"Isn't there any way for us to get wherever the hell we're going faster?"

"Nope… not unless ya figure out a way fer us all ta fly. And whutcha mean- 'wherever da hell we'z goin'?' I fawt ya had a plan!"

"Not really. All I got is; go east until we're past Wolfenburg. Then, go south until… whatever happens next. I know it ain't much."

"Not much? It's more ov a plan den Chogall ever had, dat's fer sure… Boss?"

Ranma had suddenly stiffened, muscles growing rigid with tension as his head slowly twisted and turned from side to side. The trio nearby were starting to get unnerved.

"Whut's wrong?" asked Bork. Ranma didn't look at him, simply whispering in a tone low enough for the three of them to hear, yet quiet enough that an outsider would have difficulties.

"Keep still, keep quiet and don't look around. We're being watched."

"Iz yoo sure?" whispered Widge. Ranma was too distracted to speak, but Troglahai answered for him as her wolf raised its head to sniff the air, before it's hackles rose and it growled menacingly.

"Dere's somewun out dere alright… me wolf's getting edgy- down girl! Sit!" She snapped at her lupine steed, which had begun to pace towards a certain direction. The four warriors all began to subtly reach for their weapons –well, except Ranma, but then again he technically was a weapon– when a volley of arrows suddenly erupted from the trees. The Orcs hurled themselves to the ground, while Troglahai desperately covered herself with her shield, just bringing it up before a trio of arrows embedded themselves in the leather-covered hardwood. Ranma didn't even flinch as two or three arrows ricocheted from his iron-hard armour, and snatched a final arrow that would have struck him right between the eyes from the air single-handedly bare inches before it would have struck him. Still expressionless, he squeezed it until it splintered, casually allowing the shattered arrow to spill from his fingers before addressing their unseen assailants.

"All right, who's out there? Show yerself! I'm Big Boss Ranma da Weird, chief of da Fikskulls! If yer looking fer a fight, ya came to the right guy!"

As his challenge rang out into the still air, a strange twittering, gibbering noise echoed back to them- thankfully unaccompanied by a fresh volley of arrows. As Ranma stood defiant and unassailed, the other Greenskins slowly rose to join him. Troglahai especially looked thoughtful as she listened to the gibberish coming from the woods.

"Now where has I heard dat before?"

Finally, the weird sounds reached a crescendo as, with a series of rustling noises, the origin of those sounds stepped between the trees. They looked like Goblins, albeit dressed in crude armour that consisted of bones woven together with spider silk and decorated with particularly bright feathers. And each and every single one of them was mounted upon the back of a simply humungous spider, easily the size of a Clydesdale stallion, skittering effortlessly between the trees until roughly twenty were formed in a rough phalanx before Ranma. It's pretty hard to rein in an angry dire wolf and snap your fingers at the same time, but Troglahai managed it.

"I knew I'd heard dat sound before! Dere Forest Goblins- Spider Riders ta be precise."

"Spider Riders?" Ranma asked, calm curiosity evident in his voice, though he didn't look away from the Forest Goblins. Troglahai nodded her head before elaborating.

"Dey live in da deepest parts of forests like dis, dey can't move as fast as uz Wolf Riders, but dem spiders packs a nasty bite and dey can move t'roo 'n' over obstacles we'd need to go around."

"That's good to know, but more importantly, can they fight?"

"Dey'z crack shots wid dem bows of deyr's, an' dey smear all deyr weapons wit spider venom."

"Good. We need new blood in the tribe. Can you speak that weird language of theirs?"

"A liddle, but not much- never had much dealin's wid Forest Goblins- me tribe's from da foothills ov da Middle Mountains- we didn't go inta da forest too much."

She kicked her wolf forward until she was standing slightly in front of Ranma and began speaking in the same nonsensical –to Ranma anyway– gibberish to one particularly large specimen, who wore an ornate headdress of feathers and whose features were all but obscured by a prominent tattoo of a giant spider. He waited for Troglahai to finish, then responded with his own burst of gibberish, culminating in a guttural, gargling sound that made Ranma think of someone hocking a wad of phlegm. Troglahai's expression took a nervous cast, and Ranma sighed.

"Let me guess, he wants me to fight him before he and his followers will join me?"

"Nah boss. 'E says he an' 'iz boyz used ta be members of da Rockeye Tribe."

"Used ta be?"

"Uh-huh. 'E says dat the Rockeyes woz attacked about two, t'ree nights ago. Dem dat weren't killed woz enslaved and dragged away. 'E says he an' his boyz will join us if we help save da uvver Rockeyes."

"By who? Who did this?"

More gibberish was exchanged before Troglahai looked at Ranma with a grim expression.

"Dat rat-boyz. Da Skaven."

Scritch Whiptail, a Chieftain of the Rotstump Clan, was feeling mighty proud of himself. Thanks to his bravery, his cunning, his sheer rodentine genius, the Skaven of the Rotstump Clan had managed to overwhelm and capture an entire tribe of Greenskins, despite the fact they had attacked in the dead of night whilst only outnumbering their foes by a factor of five to one. True, a good many Skaven had been sent squeaking into the embrace of the Horned Rat, but that was the Skaven way- the weak died so that the strong prevailed. And besides which, at least twenty of those Skaven had been plotting against Scritch, he was sure of that. Swishing his namesake, the unusually long, thin and slender tail that was his pride and joy, he preened his chest-fur before looking over the sullen, chain-clad Orcs and Goblins now being whipped along by Skaven Beastmasters. Yes, he truly was a great leader.

"Come-come! We must make swift-hurry! Must get these slave-beasts to clan nest-holdings before others try to steal-sneak them from us! Get them moving you worthless scum-fools!" He shrieked, the Beastmasters responding by plying their whips with greater fervour to their hapless charges- no Skaven wanted to be caught in the relatively vulnerable position of being above ground whilst hindered by the presence of untamed slaves. Especially seeing as how Orcs were notorious for being hard to break. One of his underlings, Neek Fleabag, scurried over to him, body held firmly in the Skaven non-threat position.

"Good news oh mightiest of warriors. The scouts have reported no foes lurk-hiding for many Skaven-leagues around. We should reach the nest-holdings of glorious Clan Rotstump within a cycle of the cursed sky-light."

Scritch hissed in a pleasure, only for the hiss to continue even when he stopped. He didn't even have the time to blink in confusion before an arrow dropped from the sky like a bolt of lightning to bury itself in Neek's chest, dropping the Skaven to the ground without even time to squeak in protest. The attack came so suddenly, and was so quickly followed by a sky-darkening volley of arrows, that Scritch couldn't help squirting the musk of fear as he dove for cover, pulling Neek's corpse over himself as a shield as less fortunate Skaven screamed in pain or in the throes of death.

"We are attacked! Fight! Run! Hide! Guard the slaves!" He screamed, uncaring and unthinking of the confusion he engendered amongst his followers as they scrambled to follow his contradictory orders.

"WAAAGH! Bash 'em boyz! Free da slaves!"

Scritch poked his head from beneath his gory cover to watch as an army of Orcs and Goblins erupted from amongst the trees, his musk glands spurting until they were empty as a Stone Troll and a Giant –the latter wielding what looked like a crude battering ram as a makeshift cudgel– smashed through the trees and charged towards the startled Skaven. His fear was almost challenged by his disbelief as what looked like a human being suddenly leapt from the ranks of the Greenskins, soaring almost thirty feet into the air before dropping again, only to spring up once again,

"Datz it ladz! Give 'em a good kickin'! Ain't no one gonna make slaves outa Greenskins while Boss Ranma's in town!"

Scritch was paralyzed by what he was seeing, incapable of doing anything but watch as the human plunged into the midst of a Clanrat regiment, striking alternatively with fists, feet and a strange bone staff. As the horrified Chieftain watched, he punched one Clanrat in the snout with such force he literally punched in its face, its muzzle splintering into a shapeless mass and shattered teeth spilling from its gums, then kneed another in the guts before bringing his staff whistling around in an arc that caught the Skaven under the chin and tore its head clean off. Scritch whimpered slightly as the other Clanrats hesitated, before charging forward en masse to bury their enemy beneath a mound of furry bodies.

The other Greenskins were fighting with almost equal ferocity. Three regiments of Orcs smashed into the Clanrats, crushing and slashing and bashing with bloody abandon. Goblins stabbed at giant rats with their spears, while an all-too-familiar regiment of spider-mounted Goblin archers riddled choice targets with envenomed arrows. A quintet of Rat Ogres, purchased at great expense from the Beastmasters of Clan Moulder, attacked the giant, who eagerly swung his club as one Rat Ogre launched itself from the ground towards him, connecting with it in midair and sending it flying to land with bone-snapping force amidst the ranks of another Clanrat regiment. The human, drenched from head to toe in gore, erupted from a mound of slaughtered foes and bellowed at the top of his lungs, heedless of the rivers of blood pouring down his face.

"C'mon you Rockeyes! We'z here ta set ya free! Bash yer chains! Den bash yer enemies!"

The slaves had apparently been paralyzed by the sight of their captors being butchered, but the sound of the human's voice apparently broke the spell as they immediately fell upon their captors, using their chains as impromptu flails or simply throttling, headbutting or punching their foes with reckless abandon. Scritch squirmed his way free from beneath Neek's corpse; this battle was plainly lost, and as Chieftain it was his solemn duty to escape this killing field to make it back to Clan Rotstump; once there, he could bring the full force of his clan against these monsters. With this knowledge running through his head, he made a break for it. Unfortunately for him, his progress was seen.

"My pet! Get da cowardly rat-git!" Ranma bellowed, gesturing towards the fleeing Scritch. From its position high above the battlefield, from which it had occasionally descended to pluck the occasional wriggling Skaven before biting, ripping or stinging it to death then allowing it to drop back to the ground below, Ranma's Wyvern screamed once before darting off with a single great flap of its wings. Scritch screamed as the beast descended upon him like the very wings of death, frantically scrabbling for his crudely forged sword to slash desperately at it, but it was to no avail. Its great weight struck him to the soil; a slash from its great talons removing his arm and it paused just long enough for him to voice a single despairing scream before its fangs tore out his throat. Ranma smirked in triumph.

"I can't stand cowards."

He then turned to survey the carnage. Over to his left, Fergee was gleefully jumping up and down on the last of the Rat Ogres, while Rocky turned a few fleeing Clanrats to mush with a geyser of puke. His boyz, and the still chain-clad Rockeyes, had accounted for maybe a half to two-thirds of the enemy force, but that still meant several hundred Skaven were able to fight. That didn't mean that they were sticking around to fight though; they'd lumped into a great disorganized mass and were now fleeing the battlefield, in comparison to the great disorganized mass of Greenskins now controlling the battlefield. Ranma grinned; this looked like the perfect time to try out that technique he'd learned in the Great Green. Entering the stance, he cast out with his mind-senses, feeling for the great clouds of emerald ki that seemed to be radiating from all the Greenskins on the field. Drawing this ki to himself, he began to focus it into the space between his hands, until finally he let the supercharged beam erupt forth, calling out the first suitable name that sprang to mind as he did so.

"GITBUSTER!"

A massive beam of emerald, smoke and lighting and fire all mixed together in one swirling mass, scorched a path across the battlefield to strike directly into the heart of the fleeing Skaven, where it erupted like a miniature sun of green. The explosion utterly disintegrated most of the Skaven, with absolute terror giving wings to the survivors. Not literally of course, but given how fast they were going it clearly wasn't worth the effort to pursue. Ranma beamed as he looked over the battlefield.

"I love it when a plan comes together."

_Okay, cliffhanger- of sorts. How will the Rockeye tribe react to Ranma and –perhaps more importantly– to being saved by Ranma? When will Ranma find out precisely who those final two Orcs he fought with in the Great Green where? And when will he finally get his hands on the Shockwave Gauntlets and/or the Ledge Boots? And when will I stop asking such stupid questions?_

_Hope the fight scene was to your likings; I think I made it a bit too cliché myself. And to those who find my habit of putting myself down somewhat annoying; it keeps from getting a swelled head for one, and for another it pushes me to always try and do better in each chapter. Also, can someone please suggest a name for the Wyvern? I intend to make the bestowal of its name a plot point in the next chapter, so pelase suggest._

_Congratulations to Masked Critic; the first to submit a character in the detailed style I requested! I'm not entirely sure I like her motives, but she definitely shows promise!_

_Skaven: an insidious race of subterranean rat-men, whose sheer numbers could enable them to conquer the world if they weren't both consumed with paranoia and always fighting amongst themselves. Extremely egotistical, power-hungry, treacherous and paranoid._

_The Horned Rat: the patron deity of the Skaven. Presumably some form of Lesser Chaos God. Manifests itself (has only done so once before) as a cloud of smog in the shape of a giant Skaven with horns and with eyes of Warpstone, speaking in a voice akin to a billion rats screaming in perfect unison._

_Rat Ogre: a vile mutant species created by Clan Moulder, one of their main sources of income. Essentially an ogre-sized, feral and often grossly mutated Skaven. Extremely strong and savage, but very stupid._

_Clan Moulder: one of the four Greater Clans that control all Skaven society. Clan Moulder is established in mountains far to the North, on the border between Troll Country and the Chaos Wastes. They capture, train, mutate and cross-breed all manner of vile monsters, which are then sold to other Skaven as living weapons._

_Warpstone: a greenish black crystal apparently made of solidified magic, possess extremely potent and corruptive mystical powers._


	12. Chapter 12

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** FFN is back in action now, so your reviews will have an effect sooner. Also, this just seems to be something people don't seem to realise; Ranma and his boyz are out in the middle of nowhere. Villages are scattered far and wide and there's little communication between them- which means that news about Ranma won't start trickling into the Empire for quite some time. Greenskins have a bit of an advantage; what Ranma's doing causes "ripples" in the Great Green, which Greenskin Shamans can pick up and instinctively know what's happening.

Steinerdavion2183; other than the stuff about the Skaven clans, I can't understand your review.

Crystlshake; that idea is sick, twisted and insane. I LIKE it!

Chapter 12: New Boyz in da Tribe, Part 1

"Alright boyz! Start gathering up all the dead Skaven and get 'em piled up over there!"

"Yuck boss, we ain't dat hungree! We'z still gots plenny of leftovers ta eat!"

"I don't want ya to cook 'em, stupid! I want ya to gather up all the metal they had on them and put it in a separate pile."

"Whut we need deyr metal fer? We'z got weapons."

"Yeah, but ya don't have any armour. You boyz is getting big and strong from all this fighting, and I know yer all tough, but ya really need some better protection. I know that the Skaven armour won't fit you lot, just get the metal together and then I'll explain what's going on. And what do you want?"

This last question was directed towards a particularly large and impressive Orc, who had just wandered up to Ranma and was now staring at him in disbelief. He was stunned into silence for a few seconds by Ranma's question, which gave the human enough time to quickly study the creature- evidentially a member of the Rockeye tribe. As the Orc opened his mouth to finally speak, Ranma's gaze fell upon the thick, rusty chains connecting its wrists together.

"Hold on- let's get those off ya first."

As the Orc's mouth dropped in shock, Ranma seized the chains in both hands and then ripped them apart with an audible snapping sound. He closed his eyes before narrowing his eyes suspiciously, staring first at the chains now lying upon the bloody ground, then at Ranma, then back between the two of them again.

"How da zog did yoo do dat?"

"Years of practise. What do you want Rockeye? I'm looking fer ya chief."

"I AM da chief. Big Boss Ruktar Flinteart ov da Rockeyez. So whutcha want from me?"

"Simple enough. My boyz 'n' I just saved your tribe from becoming slaves. At something of a cost to ourselves I might add. I want restitution."

"Er… whut?"

"I want you and yer boyz ta fight fer me now."

"WHUT!"

"That's what I thought you'd say." Ranma remarked casually, wriggling a finger in his ear. "In that case… I challenge you to a fight! Just you and me- one on one! Winner gets to lead both da Fikskulls, and da Rockeyes!" He spat, pointing a finger dramatically at Ruktar's chest. The Orc's eyes narrowed in equal parts anger and disbelief.

"So it's true? Yoo really are da leader of dis tribe?"

"Ya got a problem with that?"

"A' course I do! It'z unnatural! Ain't no boyz should let a stinkin' humie lead 'em! Ain't no humie wot'z fit ta be a part ov da tribe!"

The listening Fikskulls gasped in shock- this wasn't just fighting talk; this was killing talk! How would Ranma react to this? Much to the shock and confusion of all, even the Fikskulls who knew him best, Ranma didn't erupt in a frenzy of rage or scream or do anything. Instead… he smiled; a slow, evil smile that produced a sensation amongst the Fikskulls who could see it that they would later, in private talk in the dark of night, liken to long, spindly, taloned fingers, cold as the deepest winter in the mountains, gently tracing up and down their spines. Orcs didn't know the meaning of the word fear –at least, that was their story and they stuck to it– but the one thing –the only thing– that could inspire fear in the Fikskulls was Ranma. He was pretty easy-going, very Orc-like in nature- he tended to laugh off most stress. But there were some things that could push him beyond his limit, and the Fikskulls had learned to recognize the signs because when that happened, things got really, really, _really_ ugly.

"So you're saying I'm an unfit leader? That I'm unworthy to be a part of this tribe? Is that what you're telling me? I just wanted to be absolutely clear." Ranma said, in a cool, calm, collective tone of voice. By now the Rockeyes were watching in confusion as the Fikskulls scrambled for cover. Ruktar snorted disdainfully.

"Yoo got it humie. Ya don't belong 'ere."

"Right. That's it then. If you have a problem with me being here, then why don't you make me leave?" Ranma asked, still in that same tone of voice, the only sign of any actual emotion being the way he slowly and deliberately cracked his knuckles. Ruktar snarled in a tone that would have made most Orcs cower.

"If dat's whutcha want, I will den!"

"Go on. I'll even let you have the first punch."

Ruktar bellowed eagerly and lashed out with a meaty fist that was several inches bigger than Ranma's head. True to his word Ranma didn't strike back- but much to the surprise of the Fikskulls, he didn't even make one of his legendary last-second dodges, simply allowing the blow to catch him in the face. It hurled him through the air, drifting almost lazily, only for him to suddenly flip himself around near the end of his flight to land gently on the balls of his feet. Still smiling, he gently rolled his neck first to the left, then to the right, producing twin cracks.

"You call that a punch? I've had harder love taps."

Ruktar roared and charged forward, bringing his fists around in a double-axehandle that would have caved in the skull of an ordinary man, but which Ranma dodged in his usual manner. Ranma's return blow was unusually brutal, consisting of a knee to the crotch followed an elbow to the throat before, finally, seizing Ruktar by the head and then bringing it down whilst simultaneously bringing his knee up. The crunch of Ruktar's nose breaking –and more than likely his jaw cracking as well– echoed through the air, both Fikskulls and Rockeyes alike strangely silent as their Big Bosses battled to what would clearly be the death. As Ruktar reeled, Ranma darted in to deliver a brutal Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken to his opponent's chest, undoubtedly breaking at least three of the Orc's ribs. He then leapt backwards to escape Ruktar's clumsy swipe.

"You know, I was more than willing to let you live at first…"

As Ruktar bellowed and threw a left-hook, Ranma jumped lightly over the hulking Orc, actually grabbing him by the shoulder to spin himself around before landing behind Ruktar and delivering a powerful kick directly to where his opponent's kidney would be if he were human. Ranma didn't really know much about Orc anatomy, but the sheer force was enough to send Ruktar stumbling to the ground.

"…But you had to open your big mouth, didn't you?"

Ranma leapt into the air, preparing to deliver a powerful diving kick, unconsciously reaching for emerald ki as he did so. Ruktar just managed to throw himself aside as Ranma literally smashed into the ground where he had been, with so much force there was a small explosion. Rising from the great crater he had just dug with slow, deliberate menace, Ranma twisted his body to avoid being struck as Ruktar charged at him. He then struck at the Orc with an alternating series of left and right hooks and axe-kicks.

"Well let me tell you something. You want me to go back where I came from?"

A spin-kick to the crotch sent Ruktar hurtling backwards, whereupon Ranma fell on him and began striking him with karate chops and straight-punches, all of them aimed for maximum lethal effect. He bashed at his downed opponent in an emotionless, methodical manner, reminiscent of someone using a meathammer on a particularly tough bit of steak, until Ruktar threw a clumsy right hook that sent Ranma leaping backwards. Ruktar hurled himself to his feet, but he was clearly swaying, eyes so swollen he was all but blind, his face a mass of bruised flesh. The way he moved, bones were obviously cracked at least. He voiced a choked roar and charged at Ranma, who simply caught him by the flailing arm and flipped him over, doing so in such a way that he audibly broke the Orc's arm.

"There's nothing for me where I come from. I have no family, no friends, no future. But that doesn't matter now, because I have my boyz… you hear me? MY boyz!"

Seizing his opponent by his broken arm, Ranma lifted him up and hurled him across the ground to smash headfirst into a tree. Ruktar tried vainly to stand up, but Ranma launched himself through the air to end up in a diving kick that landed firmly on the middle of Ruktar's back, snapping his lower spine like a twig. His legs dead, Ruktar collapsed near-dead upon the soil as Ranma rained down blow after blow.

"They share my attitudes! They fight for me! They respect me! They like me! For the first time in my life, I'm surrounded by people whom I can relate to! They're my friends! They are my family! They are EVERYTHING! And you DARE to try and take them AWAY from me? I would have given you a place amongst them- I would have been proud to fight beside you! But you wanted to usurp that which is mine? Then perish!"

Ruktar was probably dead already, such was the fierceness with which Ranma had been beating him, but that didn't stop Ranma from raising his heel and then bringing it down in a massive impact that snapped Ruktar's neck like a rotten twig. Chest heaving with exertion, Ranma glared at his surroundings, somehow staring not at the silent Greenskins but through them. His next actions intensified their concerns; he raised his fists towards the heavens and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Do you hear me? These are my boyz! I'll fight anyone who tries ta take them from me! Bring 'em on! One at time or all at once, I don't care! As long as I have a single breath left in my body, I will not surrender! Do you hear me? Do you HEAR ME!"

Finally, seemingly exhausted and drained of strength, Ranma's legs buckled until he was sitting on his lower legs, head hanging down against his chest as he panted heavily. The Fikskulls slowly and cautiously began to press forward- they knew Ranma could really cut loose when he snapped, but this was beyond anything they'd ever seen. But still, the possessiveness –the sheer pride– in his voice touched a chord in their hearts. To most Bosses, their underlings were nothing if not expendable- little more than self-carrying weapons to be thrown at the enemy en masse. Greenskins rarely got upset about this because it was, after all, just a fact of life. To be wanted –to be desired– in the way Ranma had just demonstrated was unheard of… but it felt strangely good. As one they turned to face the now-leaderless Rockeyes.

"Are yoo wit us? Or against us?"

"We're wit ya!"

_Okay… I'll admit, I have no idea exactly how this chapter came into being- I really hope it isn't that lousy. Anyway, next chapter I intend to have Ranma lead the now-enlarged Fikskulls to find and destroy the clan-holdings of the Rotstump clan- that's how I'll introduce the new Shaman. Keep on reviewing, please!_


	13. Chapter 13

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** (cautiously emerges from solid-lead anti-radiation suit) wow, the response to the last chapter was a lot more positive than I dared to dream it would be. I was positive you'd flame me so badly my hardrive would melt. I know the previous chapter was short and for that I apologise; these two chapters and the next in line were originally supposed to be one chapter, but I kind of "burned out" at the ending of the last chapter. Rest assured that the previous chapter was the bare minimum word limit; I will NEVER post a chapter that's shorter than that one.

Masked Critic; I never had a problem with the "mercenary" part of your suggestion's background. It was more the "set fire to rival's holdings" part- still, I think I might be able to pull it off. Take comfort with the fact that, so far, you're in the lead.

TerraBull; the time is passing at an equal rate- though perhaps I should have made it clearer in the Nerima chapter (which seems likely to be the last of its kind; people want me to stick with Ranma rather than seeing what's going on in Nerima).

To Anonymous (man I feel stupid writing that); Warhammer Fantasy and Warhammer 40K, while sharing a lot of stuff, are still separate settings. There's a lot of controversy about how WFB Greenskins reproduce, but it basically divides into two camps; the 40K'ers, like you, and the route I've gone with- there's two sexes, it's just damn near impossible to tell them apart.

Chapter 13: New Boyz in da Tribe, Part 2

It was several minutes before Ranma's breathing took on an even pattern again and he rose to his feet. He didn't speak or do anything though, simply walking off into the forest. The Fikskulls –old and new members alike– knew better than to follow him, simply continuing with their task of gathering up all of the Skaven dead and stripping them of their valuables (which disappeared into Greenskin pockets/pouches) and collecting all of their metal items, which ended up in a pile.

Ranma walked until he was positive he was far enough away from the Fikskulls, then promptly began to vomit. Once his stomach was empty, and after a series of painful dry-heaves, he began frantically rubbing at his bloodstained hands, trying to scrape off their coating of gore by brushing them as hard as possible with handfuls of leaves or by scraping them against the tree bark. Finally he managed to get himself under control- relatively speaking. Hands reaching for Gitzduffd's staff, still hanging on his back, he jabbed its end into the soil until it was standing up by itself, whereupon he sat back on his haunches and began to speak to the only reminder he had of the sole person he felt would be able to understand what he was going through.

"Hello Gitzduffd… it's me, Ranma. I… I don't know if you can hear me wherever you are in the Great Green, but I really need to talk to you. Something… something happened today, and I really need to talk about it. We saved this other tribe from becoming Skaven slaves, but then their leader accused me of not being a fit leader… he said that I didn't belong here, that I wasn't worthy to be an Orc. When he said that, something inside me just… snapped. I killed him. I beat him to death with my bare hands, all for a lowly insult. I know that I have to kill to survive, but what kind of leader am I if I go berserk over an insult like that? Maybe he was right… maybe I don't deserve to be part of this tribe…"

Unbeknownst to Ranma, when he had started speaking a strange green mist had begun to rise from the ground, twisting and coalescing until it had formed itself into the exact likeness of Ranma's dead Shaman, Gitzduffd. The ghostly Orc placed a comforting hand on Ranma's shoulder, up until the human's final sentence. Then, while Ranma's head was bowed, Gitzduffd's ghost walked through Ranma and picked up its staff, taking a second to caress the familiar collection of bones and sinews before whipping it around in a well-practised arc.

WHOCK. WHOCK. WHOCK.

Ranma pulled his head from the soil and spat out a mouthful of dirt before shaking the after-effects of concussion from his head.

"Okay, I've heard of self-punishment before, but that's ridiculous."

WHOCK

"Giddup boss; dis ain't like ya. It don't suit ya neivva."

Ranma shook his head in disbelief, finally looking up to see the smiling, staff-wielding spectral Orc Shaman standing in front of him. His eyes bulged and his jaw dropped in astonishment.

"It can't be… Gitzduffd? Is that really you? No way- I must be dreaming."

"If'n I woz a dream, could I do dis?"

WHOCK

"Still fink I'z a dream?"

"A dream wouldn't hurt so much… That means it really is you. I don't believe it! How?"

"I said I'd be watchin' ya, didn't I? Now stop dis moping. I know ya didn't mean to go nutzo like ya did, but it don't do no good ta da dead ta be moping like dis. Da only fing ya can do is ta remember whut happened 'n' make sure it don't happen agin. Ya got da might boss, and while dat mean's ya got da right ta lead, ya need ta remember dat ya haff ta lead'z right. Dat's da reason Gork 'n' Mork let me come back."

"Gork and Mork? What do those two have to do with anything?"

"Ya didn't know boss? Dose ladz ya fought were avatars ov Gork 'n' Mork, da Bruvva-Godz ov all Greenskins."

"Ya know, that's one thing I've never really understood; what is the difference between a God and an Avatar?"

"Beats da heck out ov me too boss. But dat ain't important. What'z important is dat da Godz 'ave let me come back to advise ya 'n' keep ya goin' on da right track. Sort ov."

"Whatcha mean 'sort of'?"

"Da dead can't walk wit da livin'. Dat's somefing dat we agree on wit da humies. So I can't be wit ya in da 'flesh', if'n ya foller me. But dere's a way ta be wit ya in 'spirit'."

As Ranma blinked in confusion, Gitzduffd held his staff straight and closed his eyes as he pressed it against his forehead. A blinding green light forced Ranma to turn his eyes and turn away and when he looked back, Gitzduffd was gone. As was his staff… sorta. Encased in an aura of crackling green electricity, suspended several inches above the ground, was a new staff that visibly pulsed with power. The bones that had originally been crudely lashed together with dried sinews had literally melted, flowing and fusing together until the staff was a single, solid piece of bone. The former "streamers" were gone now, replaced by a series of engraven Orcish glyphs. The bottom of the staff came to an exaggerated, almost spear-like point, while the top… –here Ranma had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things– was a carved bust of Gitzduffd's head, perfect in every detail. His concerns for his sanity took a new turn when the bust smiled and then spoke, a perfect –if somewhat echoing– replication of Gitzduffd's voice.

"Dere now. Dis is how we can continue ta fight tagevva. Troo dis staff, I can see 'n' hear everfing dat's happenin', and troo dis staff we can talk ta each uvver. Now, dere's one fing ya gotta do afore da Godz will give ya deyr Sign."

"Their Mark?"

"No, deyr Sign. Ya 'ave deyr Mark already; deyr Sign be a physical manifestation ov deyr Mark- ov da favour ya hold in deyr eyez. But afore ya get da Sign, ya gotz ta do somefing first…"

The Fikskulls, the absorbed Rockeyes naturally taking the name of the dominant tribe, had finished their appointed task. They stood and wandered about the clearing aimlessly, wondering when their boss would return and what his next orders would be. They didn't have long to wait as Ranma strode from the forest, the light of confidence glowing in his eyes and vigour pulsing through his limbs, clutching an ornate staff none of the Orcs had seen before, the Orc bust at its tip bearing a smile upon its carved lips and with a spectral green glow in its eyes. Ranma proudly surveyed the labour of the Fikskulls and nodded his head in satisfaction.

"Ya done good boyz… Fergee!"

"Yes boss?"

"Ya reckon you could fit all that metal in that sack of yers?"

The giant eyed the mass of metal speculatively before looking at the sack in question. After several minutes of silence, he nodded once and beamed with an ear-to-ear grin.

"Sure fing boss!"

"All right then- scoop it up and stuff it in yer bag! The rest of you- grab yer gear! We're moving out! We're gonna find the nest of those filthy Skaven, and then we're gonna kick their asses so hard, they're gonna be able to French-kiss their own butts!"

Now, the Fikskulls didn't exactly understand that last part, but they got the drift. They were going to fight somebody! Who cared what the little details were? Carnage! The clearing became a scene of anarchy as Greenskins scrambled for weaponry and gear, leading to numerous half-hearted brawls as ownership of particular bits and pieces was disputed. Still, nobody wanted to squabble over such pointless things when they could go slaughter some random target for no particular reason. Ranma watched them, cheer now having firmly established itself in his heart thanks to Gitzduffd's counsel, before turning away and whistling for his Wyvern. He idly stroked its neck whilst waiting for his ladz to finish getting "organized", smiling as his pet crooned its pleasure.

"I keep meaning to give you a name boy, and I keep putting it off. It's just that I haven't been able to think of anything suitable. I mean; a name needs to be special, right? Hmm… ya know, these brilliant white scales of yours are really quite impressive, and the way you descend upon my enemies… you're almost like a trained hawk in that respect. Wait, that's it- there's a name in my native tongue –I still don't understand why I can speak the language of this place though– that sounds like it would be perfect. Shirotaka. It means 'White Hawk'. Whatcha think boy?"

A pleased roar was his answer, and Ranma laughed.

"Then Shirotaka it is! I can't wait until you're big enough to ride- I'll teach you some of the secret tricks the Saotome School of Anything-Goes Martial Arts has for aerial combat. That is, assuming I get the time…"

Ranma looked back to the rest of his tribe; they were finally ready and were clamouring eagerly to go. As the newly named Shirotaka launched himself into the sky, Ranma voiced an eager laugh.

"All right boyz! Letz go stomp some rats!"

"WAAAGH!"

Ranma wasn't entirely sure how they'd managed it, but after several hours of tracking (more like stumbling around randomly in his opinion, though he didn't voice it) they'd finally found the fortress of the Rotstump clan; a ramshackle log fort constructed completely from rotten wood. Ranma had thought it rather small and undefended looking, but a mental warning from Gitzduffd's Staff had alerted him to the fact Skaven preferred to live underground and thus this fortress was merely the proverbial tip of the iceberg. Those weren't his exact words, but Ranma got the gist of it. He held back his troops, much to their disappointment, in the forest a good distance beyond the sight of any guards.

"Anyone have any suggestions as to what we do next?"

"Er… don't we jus' bust our way in an' fump everwun?" asked a particularly puzzled ex-Rockeye. The older, more experienced Fikskulls groaned softly and shook their heads in good-natured mockery; they'd learned quite a bit about sneaking around under the command of Gragtar –they never would have survived if they hadn't– and under Ranma's leadership they had acquired a spectacular degree of tactical knowledge. By Orc standards anyway. And considering what the former Rockeye had just voiced was about the only tactic the average Orc Boss knew, that really didn't mean much. Ranma calmly walked over and slung a friendly arm across the cringing Orc's shoulders.

"No, no, no. Yer not thinking things through properly. If we just charge, what happens if they got guards? They might have traps, or monsters waiting in hiding… we need to know what they have in there that might be a danger to us. But you've just given me an idea… I want the sneakiest, smartest Goblin here to step forward!"

There was a momentary silence… then the non-mounted Goblins immediately began fighting bitterly with one another. Ranma clapped a hand to his forehead and then dragged it down his face in self-mockery whilst those Fikskulls not involved in the actual squabble sat back to enjoy the show.

"Smooth move rocks-fer-brains. Why not just ask Akane to cook dinner while yer at it? You've been leading these guys fer how long now? And you still haven't learned that ya shouldn't say stuff like that?"

Something prodded him in the small of his back and then a reedy voice rang out from behind him.

"I dunno boss. Have ya?"

Ranma turned around with deceptive slowness and genuine grace, remembering at the last moment to look down as he did so. Standing in front of him, a cocky smirk upon its face, was a particularly small but intelligent-looking Goblin. It was dressed in leather armour stained in khaki colours and wearing a helmet that looked weirdly like one of those bizarre helmets with the spike on top that Ranma had seen Germans wearing in those old movies about World War One. It threw a surprisingly precise salute before speaking, Ranma idly noticing the tiny signs that distinguished this Greenskin as being a female as she spoke.

"Blueart da Lucky at yer service! I'z da smartest, sneekiest, slipperiest Gobbo dere iz! Whutcha want me fer?"

"Blueart? That's a rather weird name. Anyway, I've got a mission for you. One of the absolute utmost importance- your success or failure in this mission could spell the success or failure of this entire Waaagh!"

Blueart's eyes widened, and Ranma had to fight back a snort of laughter as it gave her a strangely chibi-like look. Her chest puffed with pride as she pulled herself ramrod straight– well, as close to that as Greenskin could get, the combined effort almost lifting her from the ground. She practically radiated eagerness and confidence.

"Wot'z da job boss? I'z da Gobbo fer da job!"

"I need you to infiltrate the Skaven's base- that is, I need you to sneak inside there and look around inside. Find out how many there are in there, what sort of defences they have, where those defences are located, then get back out here. Is that clear soldier?"

"Sah! Crystal clear sah!"

"One more thing before you go. If there are any slaves in there, try and sneak into their midst; let them know that help is coming to let them out- to let them all out, whatever their species be. If you can smuggle them keys to their chains or weaponry or anything like that and still complete your mission, do it. Got me?"

"I got it- I won't let you down boss!"

"Good. Then off you go then- make it sneaky."

"Sneaky iz me last name boss."

"I thought your last name was Lucky?"

_Okay, I know, I know, another short chapter. But still, I hope it isn't too short. The final part of this trilogy is the next chapter- I'd like your advice on what sort of Skaven forces and particularly important individual slaves to have Blueart find on her mission. I hope this is up to your standards- I'm not sure if it's up to my usual efforts._


	14. Chapter 14

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** not much in the way of interviews… but at least they were all positive. Kudos to TerraBull; your reviews are both regular and a delight to receive, with plenty of inspiring thoughts and ideas. Anyway, the final part of this storyline (but NOT of this story- have no fear of that) and the introduction of the New Shaman. Just to make things a little clearer; Clan Rotstump is an "offshoot Clan" of Clan Moulder, a small (relatively speaking) cluster of Clan Moulder Skaven sent to establish an outpost close (relatively speaking again) to the Empire and which, due to location, has access to a variety of deep-woods-dwelling monsters to experiment on. That's the theory anyway. In reality Clan Rotstump is really little more than a backwater outpost, where Skaven that have fallen from favour but which aren't yet disposable can be sent to get them out of the way. I hope I convey that feeling.

Chapter 14: New Boyz in da Tribe, Part 3

It had been several hours since Blueart had slunk away towards the fortress, and the boyz were beginning to get restless. Though they weren't stooping so low as to start fighting each other; they both respected and feared Ranma too much to do that. Especially whilst he was standing amongst them. But the boredom was definitely getting to them; they had begun to twitch and fidget constantly, and some had even begun drifting off to sleep. Ranma himself was getting more than a little bored, but he buried it deeply, concentrating on staring at the fortress. He couldn't help worrying about that Goblin- sure, she had managed to sneak up on him, but there was big difference between surprising one martial artist –even one of his calibre– and infiltrating an entire enemy fortress. In fact he was so preoccupied with staring at the fortress, looking for any signs of activity that might indicate that they'd caught her, that he failed to notice that anyone was behind him until he was prodded in the back.

"Mission accomplished sah!"

"How the zog do you do that? And where the hell did you learn to talk like that?"

"First fing; natural talent boss. Da second… I dunno."

"Ah well, never mind. Let's get back to the more important matters- report."

"Da fort's empty; all da rat-boyz iz down below, dey'z getting ready fer a fight. Some ov 'um musta survived dat battle where ya saved us ex-Rockeyez- dey made it back 'ere and now dey've stirred up da whole nest."

"That makes our job a little harder… how many warriors do they have? And what sort?"

"I dunno how many dey have… I can't count dat high. I fink dey got as many fightaz as we do boss."

At that a twinge of curiosity tickled Ranma at the back of his skull; exactly how many warriors did he have now anyway? Ranma made a mental note to take stock of his forces after this battle, then turned his full attention back to Blueart- this was important.

"But az fer what dey got… mostly dey'z jus' got rat-boyz… a mess ov giant rats too, an' lotz 'n' lotz ov liddle rats. Dey don't 'ave a spellchucker though; don't look like dey'z important enuff ta have wun. Dey got some kinda Big Boss, an' he'z got a guard ov armoured rat-boyz."

"You're sure about that? I don't want to run my boyz straight into the jaws of some kinda weird monster fing."

"I searched dat place from top ta bottom boss, dat's all dey got… uvva den da slaves."

"Slaves?"

"Lotz ov dem boss. Humies, uvva Greenskins, I was tol' dere's a stuntie in dere too, but I din't see 'im, an' lotz ov rat-boyz."

"Wait, Skaven make slaves of their own?"

_"Yes."_

The way the word seemed to rattled around inside Ranma's skull like a stone ricocheting off the sides of a can, coupled with the strange, metallic twang, told Ranma that, despite the fact the lips on Gitzduffd's bust were moving, the only one who'd be hearing the former Shaman's speech would be him.

_"Rat-boyz ain't got no trust. Dey ain't got no friends, no family neivva. Da only fing a rat-boy looks out fer iz 'imself. Dey stab each uvver in da back every chance dey get. Any rat-boy dat don't watch 'iz back ends up a slave."_

"And you told the Skaven slaves about our little rescue mission?"

"Yeah- I couldn't help it boss! Dey were all mixed up wit da uvver slaves; I 'ad ta tell dem so'z I could tell da uvver slaves. Dey swore dat dey'd help us."

"How do we know that they're trustworthy?" Ranma asked, causing Blueart to look downcast and nervously scuff the ground with the toe of her boot, unaware that Ranma had been addressing this question to Gitzduffd and was now listening intensely to the reply.

_"Skaven can't be trusted ta do anyfing… except ta try an' get demselves out ov a jam, whatever it takes. Dat means dat dey will fight fer us… so long as it looks like we'z winnin'. After dat, who knowz what dey'll do? Still, any help is better 'n' no help."_

"Alright then, fergit about it Blueart- ya did alright. What can ya tell me about the place we'll be fighting in?"

"Typical Skaven nest really, if what me poppa always used ta tell me iz true; it'z a maze ov tunnels carved out inta da rock, running in every direction. Da really good-built tunnel seems ta go norfeast, towards da Wastes."

"How big are these tunnels?"

"Plenny big fer us Gobbos… not so good fer bigga fings."

"Bigger things? Like what? What's the biggest among us that you think could fit down there?"

"Rocky could probably fit inta da main tunnels- but he'z gonna be scrapin' da roof 'n' da walls even den. I'd leave da Wolf 'n' Spider Riders topside; dey don't do so good unnerground."

"Great… how are we gonna keep those bastards from outflanking us then?"

"I snagged a map ov da holez dey got scattered around dese parts; let da Riders stay upside wid it, and dey can go back an' forth a'tween da holez; keep 'em from trying ta pop up behind us."

"I think I got an idea to go with that… Fergee?"

"Yes boss?"

"It looks like ya won't be coming down wid us to da fight… but I gots a job fer you anyway."

"Whut?"

"You, Troglahai's Marauders and- what do you Spider Riders call yerselves again?"

A quick burst of gibberish ensured from the Spider Rider Boss, which Troglahai quickly translated as "Chief Biteface 'n' da Creepy Crawlies".

"Alright, you, Troglahai's Marauders, Shirotaka and the Creepy Crawlies will stay topside- give 'em the map Blueart."

Blueart did as she was told, handing over a rather tatty and filthy piece of parchment to Troglahai, who took it in a manner that would have reminded Ranma of a housewife picking up a dead rat by the tail- if he'd ever seen that even happen.

"You lot, are to patrol between the holes around here; if any Skaven show up… stomp 'em! Iz dat clear?"

"Fergee likes squishin' fings!"

"And with any luck, you'll get ta squish plenty of Skaven today. But first things first- wake up ya dozy gitz! It's time to attack! Fergee! Smash that fort over there! Stomp it ta rubble, then kick the junk aside so we can go down those tunnels! These rat-boyz won't come up and fight us, then we'll just have to take the fight to them! Waaagh!"

"WAAAGH!" the warcry of an army of Greenskins, accompanied by the mighty lungs of an enthusiastic giant, made the trees shake as though they were caught in the grips of a hurricane. Fergee charged forward, so caught up in what he was about to do that he almost stepped on a couple of dozen Greenskins, who promptly joined Ranma in shouting abuse at the indifferent giant.

An arm like a redwood tree knotted with great boulder-sized cords of muscle drew backwards, an entire battering ram clenched in a humungous fist, and then hurtled forward, bringing the monstrous cudgel tearing through the air to slam with unspeakable force into the side of the fortress. A fortress of stone wouldn't have withstood that attack; this mound of rotten wood was all but torn in half, the majority of its upper portions shattered into filthy powder and splinters. A monstrous foot drew back and then rocketed forwards, smashing what remained of the door in –along with most of the walls– and sent it hurtling into the sky. The other foot was raised up and then brought slamming down, crushing whatever was beneath it flat. It was the work of roughly three more blows before Fergee roughly kicked aside enough of the toppled fortress that the great cavern leading into the depths of the Skaven warren was revealed. With a clumsy hop aside, Fergee leapt out of the way as the Greenskin infantry charged forth, Ranma at their head.

Warlord Tribble Vesquick was not having a good day. First of all, that worthless clutch-brother of his Chieftain Scritch Whiptail had taken half the clan with him on a slaving raid. Secondly, they'd been late returning. Thirdly, a small group of maybe a dozen or so Skaven had finally stumbled back into the warren, stinking of the musk of fear and squeaking madly about a massacre. When they'd finally calmed down, it had turned out they were the only survivors of the slavers- the rest had been slaughtered by an Orc ambush. The experience had clearly unhinged them, because they claimed a human had led the Orcs. Tribble had naturally executed the lot, but had begun rallying the remaining Skaven all the same. Let's see those pathetic Greenskins stand up to the might of the Skaven when a REAL leader was leading them!

But of course, there were still more problems. It seemed he hadn't been quick enough to execute the survivors of the slaving raid, as an undercurrent of fear had begun to spread amongst the Clanrats- but it was ever the fate of Skaven leaders to be betrayed by incompetent and witless underlings. That didn't mean he wasn't going to try to whip some backbone into them. Literally if need be.

"Witless scum-fools! Mindless green-things cannot hunt-track us! Gather your weapons, and we shall head for the surface to hunt-slay them all! They will suffer for attacking the mighty Clan Rotstump! They will all suffer-die! We shall- eh?"

The sounds of destruction suddenly echoed through the tunnel-complex, backed by a chorus of battlecries and the sound of running bodies. Many, many running bodies. Warlord Tribble caught a faint whiff of the musk of fear in the air, and quickly turned to spark more fire into his Clanrats before the scent set them all to flight. With the natural exception of his elite Stormvermin, of course.

"The fools-filth dare to come into our lair! Spread out- to the tunnels! We shall surround them, and then their blood shall flow thickly upon the floors! Go- now! Now-now!"

The Skaven immediately began to scuttle away into the labyrinth; though there was still fear in their shrivelled black hearts, it was temporarily subsumed by confidence inspired by the fact that there was no way their enemies would be able to pursue them without splitting up into small, vulnerable units. Not to mention the fact that nobody knew these tunnels better than they did- which meant that there was every chance they'd be able to simply avoid their opponents until the fighting was done. The tail of the very last of Warlord Tribble's Stormvermin had just slithered out of sight when Ranma came charging into the meeting hall at the head of a tide of bloodthirsty Greenskins. They screeched to a halt in the middle of the hall, swearing and snarling and spitting curses at their cowardly foe. Ranma gestured imperiously as he spoke.

"Split up inta ya mobs and pick a tunnel! Chase 'em down and spill some blood! Remember though- don't hurt any of the slaves; we'z here ta set them free, not ta kill them. Let'z go!"

With a battlecry that echoed throughout the warren, the Fikskulls eagerly did as they were told, the song of bloodshed, even if only the promise of bloodshed, ringing within the very depths of their souls. The danger didn't frighten them- nothing could frighten an Orc when there was a battle to be fought. They would track down these filthy Skaven and when they did these tunnels would run red.

Snurk chittered to himself, his twisted and malformed snout producing the wheezing gurgling snort from which he drew his name as he did so. He had brought his troops through the tunnels that led into the larder- that was the place to set up an ambush. Plus, Skaven were voracious eaters- they'd be much better at such physical activities as fighting if they had some food in their gullets. He and his brethren were gorging themselves on all manner of Skaven delicacies; raw slabs of putrefying flesh, vile black bread baked from diseased corn crushed with Warpstone, sour wine and other such disgusting foods.

The feast was conducted in near-perfect silence; other than the occasional squeak or the sound of claws scraping on stone, the Clanrats didn't make any noise whatsoever. That meant they were easily able to hear as something came lumbering down the corridor. Dropping the food, they clustered around the door; when the enemy pulled it open, they'd rush out and attack. As plans went it was a pretty good one… but it would turn out to have a single, fatal flaw. Whatever was on the other side didn't pull the door outwards- it smashed it inwards instead, doing so with such force that Snurk was caught up between it and the wall and crushed to death.

Rocky stuck his head through the wrecked portal and didn't even bother to voice the customary roar before disgorging a geyser of Troll digestive fluids, the most powerful corrosive fluids in the universe, dissolving Snurk's squad into nothingness. Now Rocky roared in triumph, before squeezing his scaly bulk through the shattered doorway into the kitchen. He idly prodded a hunk of Skaven foodstuffs and promptly stuck out his tongue in an expression of disgust. Troll might be capable of digesting rock, steel and even Brussels sprouts, but there were some things even they wouldn't eat. He lumbered away to try and find something that was a bit tastier.

Bork bellowed triumphantly; he and his Bashers had managed to run smack-bang into a regiment of Clanrats, but the cowardly Skaven were turning tail and fleeing. Of course, even with their natural speed when it came to retreating they weren't getting off scot-free. The tunnels were cramped and uneven places, and that meant their mobility was hampered- which in turn meant that they couldn't dodge the blows of their Orc enemies. Flesh was split and bones were shattered, corpses dropped to the ground and were promptly ground underfoot as the rock became slick with spreading pools of foul black Skaven ichor. But still, despite the casualties they were taking, the Skaven managed to slip away from the Orcs, who took pursuit with howls of bloodlust that echoed from the walls and merged with the terrified squeaking of the Skaven to form an unholy chorus of battle.

Suddenly, the clamour of battle resumed- stronger, louder than before. Without even realising it, Bork's Bashers had chased their victims right into the middle of the fight between another set of Orcs and Skaven. Not that they really cared; Greenskins slashed and hacked and butted and battered anything that wasn't green. Bork himself managed to plant his choppa in between the ribs of a Skaven, right before a well-used mace pulverized its skull. As Bork tugged his choppa free, he noticed the wielder of the mace was none other than Widge, and the two Orc Bosses shared mutual grins before returning to the slaughter.

Warlord Tribble Vesquick snarled in fury; precisely how had his treacherous underlings managed to lead him into the slave quarters? Not that it mattered- the slaves would make perfect cannon fodder to throw into the teeth of the enemy. With all the dregs that were currently hacking and gouging at the bare rock with crude chisels and picks, surely their enemy would be unable to kill them all before being dragged down themselves?

"All slaves! Prepare to fight-slay!"

For a second, he could have sworn that the slaves actually looked at him, but he must have been mistaken- surely no slave would dare to be so insolent? He shook his head to clear his mind of such foolish thoughts- of course they wouldn't! He instead turned his attention down towards the great door that closed off the tunnel leading to this place, clutching his Weeping Blade tightly in his forepaws as the sounds of Skaven dying and bodies breaking came ever closer.

Ranma axe-kicked at a Skaven that persisted in jabbing at him with a spear, striking it so hard that it flew into the rock wall with sufficient force to split the skull, falling to the floor as blood and brain matter trickled down the wall. An elbow jab crushed the throat of one Skaven that tried and failed to sneak up from behind and bury a rusty dagger in his kidney. A whirlwind of kicks and staff-strikes later, and his gore-spattered form was standing before a thick gate of wood and iron, wondering how he would get inside. It was times like these he almost wished he'd asked the Old Ghoul to teach him the Bakusai Tenketsu. Almost.

Holding the staff before him, he reached out once again for that strange emerald ki- the Waaagh, Gitzduffd called it. Somehow, Ranma was using the very same energy that Gitzduffd had used in life to work his magic to work his newest special attack. And with Gitzduffd helping him to see and manipulate the Waaagh, he knew it wouldn't be long before he could create new techniques. Thanks to Gitzduffd, he was able to reach through the solid rock of the tunnels and draw the Waaagh from the fighting pockets of Greenskins- having left the Gitduffers behind at a previous junction, on virtue of the fact they were both deadly enough to function on their own. Feeling the power coursing through his body, he levelled the staff towards the gate.

"Gitbuster!"

A blast of pure Waaagh energy, far more focused and controlled than his previous attempt had been, erupted from the bust of Gitzduffd at the staff's tip and shattered the gate to splinters. With a dramatic flourish that would have done credit to Tatewaki Kuno himself, he swept through the smoke and dust to stand in full sight of the Stormvermin, grinning as he said the first words that came to mind.

"Honey, I'm home!"

"Kill-maim him!"

The Stormvermin squealed with fury and charged towards Ranma, who simply grinned with delight. Gitzduffd's staff seemed to echo with ghostly howls and whoops as it swung through the air, shattering limbs so firmly that it effectively cut them off and crushing skulls to jelly. A Stormvermin that dove at him found itself the victim of a vicious scissors-kick that sent it flying upwards to become impaled on a cluster of stalactites. A second was sent flying by a backhand, landing on a stalagmite that skewered its heart and snapped its spine. Warlord Tribble squealed loudly as he tried to scramble backwards, literally pushing his Stormvermin into the path of this terrible monster –this beast in man-thing's shape– but each simply died in turn, usually in a very gruesome manner. Finally, he tripped and fell into the pit amidst the slaves, who had remained silent and still as the grave throughout the battle.

"Slaves! Kill the monster!"

"Yes, go on, kill the monster." Ranma smirked, folding his ichor-drenched arms across his chest as the slaves looked between him and Tribble and then, as one, fell upon the Skaven with such speed and ferocity he didn't even have the chance to lift his Weeping Blade in defense before he was hacked apart.

_Okay, a short and lousy chapter- but what the hell, I never promised literary gold. Quite the opposite in fact. In the next chapter, Ranma figures out what to do with the slaves before continuing his journey east. I apologise for the delay in posting this- things came up in real life._


	15. Chapter 15

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** ah, so many positive reviews- let's me know I've done my job right. Sorry for the delay getting this chapter up; bit of writer's block. Still, a mild case and I should be back into the swing of things now. Oh, and I forgot to mention last chapter; a Weeping Blade is a Skaven magical weapon, during forging the liquid metal has numerous poisons and pure Warpstone mixed into it, causing the finished weapon to constantly "weep" a vile corrosive toxin.

Chapter 15: The Aftermath

Ranma waited for the slaves to finish venting their fury upon the corpse of Warlord Tribble, then casually dropped down into their ranks, causing them to withdraw. Not without due course though- he was a pretty imposing figure after all. On an idle whim, he picked up the Skaven Warlord's Weeping blade- with great care naturally; he didn't have the faintest clue what that green gunge seeping from the blade was, but he doubted it would be healthy to let it touch him. He'd barely held it for a few seconds before Gitzduffd urged him to throw it away, advice he readily agreed upon; simply touching the hilt caused a strange, sick feeling to course through his body. He looked over the wary slaves and clucked his tongue good-naturedly.

"C'mon. Let's get youz outta here."

They stared at him seemingly without comprehending; he truly intimidated them. Ranma chuckled softly and held out his hands in the classic "look; no weapons" posture. Of course, that probably wasn't as effective as it could have been given the fact that they'd seen him rip through a regiment of Stormvermin barehanded.

"Come on- I ain't gonna bite. We'z gonna get ya out of those chains, then we'll see what we can do about sorting ya'z out."

Still silence at first, then slowly, one by one, they began moving forward. Ranma smiled gently, before bending down on his knees to look the first slave to approach him in the eyes- a human girl, who couldn't have been more than ten years old at most. Her clothing was little more than rags, and she bore the telltale marks of whip scarring around her face. Ranma's heart burned at the sight of such abuse, but he swallowed it and instead reached for the girl's chains, the only sign of his outrage a slight tremor in his hands before he yanked the rusty steel apart. Then, sundered steel links spilling from careless fingers, he reached for the next set of chains. And then the next. And the next. And the next.

One by one, with an almost rhythmic series of movements, each slave was freed. Most of the slaves were a roughly equal mix of Goblins and humans, with the odd Orc occasionally surfacing from the crowd. Ranma idly noticed that some of the Goblins had a strange cast to their features, minor physical differences that made them stand out compared to the Goblins and Forest Goblins he was familiar with. He ignored this though –there would be plenty of time for questions later– and instead concentrated on simply freeing the slaves. Finally, the only slaves left were the Skaven slaves. Ranma hesitated; what he'd seen of the Skaven, and what he'd been told about them, it was only natural. But still, for all the changes he'd gone through, Ranma was still Ranma- and that meant he kept his word. Finally, all of the slaves were free, rubbing long-bound wrists in disbelief as Ranma took charge again.

"Okay, is this all of you? Are there any more slaves in these tunnels?"

"Yes… other dig sites, the slave pits, scattered throughout the tunnels…" came the weak, hesitant reply. It was hard to tell whether the cause was exhaustion, fear of Ranma or some combination of the two. Most likely the final option, Ranma thought idly, before resuming his "leader" act.

"Okay then. Do you know the way out of these caves? The guards are all dead by now, so you can just walk on out. When you reach the outside, just stay there- there's a giant and two mobs of Goblin cavalry- they'll keep you safe while I find the rest of the slaves. Alright?"

As one the slaves nodded then, slowly, they began to exit the cavern through the sundered door. Ranma waited until the last few stragglers had left before turning and heading through a different door- he swore that he would not rest until he'd found and freed every single slave in this horrible place. Of course, his initially beneficent attitude was forgotten when he ran right into a regiment of Clanrats. Then he was too busy busting heads to be thinking noble thoughts.

Urbari Zakison tossed another load of coals into the fire of the primitive forge and swore in Khazalid, cursing yet again the Skaven, their foul ways, this loathsome place and the evil fates that had seen him brought to this place and forced to forge weapons for the filthy rat-men. He was the son of the leader of a relatively small clan of displaced Dwarfs who had established a brewery near the great road that connected Talabheim, Kislev, the Slayer Keep of Karak Kadrin and the overrun Karak Ungor, located in Red Eye Mountain, far to the east. Though far from wealthy (by Dwarf standards), they enjoyed a relatively comfortable life, and the locals prized their ale.

He was still unsure how and why the Skaven had brought him here –not to mention precisely where "here" was– but he had no choice but to forge their weapons and tools- they threatened to slaughter his entire clan otherwise. He wasn't chained, but the biggest and most vicious Giant Rats in the warren guarded the only way out. Coupled with the fact that there were normally three of the toughest Stormvermin stationed in here to ensure he couldn't forge any weapons for himself, he was well and truly trapped. Though the Stormvermin had been called out, they had taken all the finished weapons with them and he doubted he'd have the time to forge any sort of weapon while they were gone. As he stomped angrily to get another load of coals, he stopped, blinking in disbelief as strange sounds began to reach his ears- the chittering screams of the Giant Rats, coupled with meaty smacking noises and finally a strange voice.

"Zoggin' hell! And I thought the two-legged rats were bad! Get off me back ya bloody great heap of spit! AHH! That's me face ya little-!"

Precisely what the next word would have been was drowned out as the Giant Rat that was evidentially responsible came literally flying through the door. If it hadn't been dead when it smashed a hole through six inches of steel-studded oak, then it was definitely dead after landing face-first in the roaring fire on which Urbari would melt ore into liquid metal. More swearing and crashing followed as another Giant Rat was roughly cut in half by being smashed against the jagged edge of the hole in the door, which itself was quickly torn apart as a human staggered in holding two more giant rats by the throats whilst a third perched on his back. As Urbari gaped in disbelief, the human throttled both of his victims to death before slamming into a wall with sufficient force to crack the skull of the giant rat perched upon his shoulders.

Dumping the three great carcasses to the floor, he lurched forward until he caught his breath, chest moving in a surprisingly even fashion for someone who'd just been in such a vicious fight. He was covered in black Skaven ichor and red blood- at least some of which had to be his. As he raised his head, Urbari could see a great gash had been torn in the right side of his face, curving from beneath his eye and spreading out over the cheek. Without taking his eyes off Urbari, the human gently reached up and traced the torn flesh.

"That's gonna leave a mark. Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I am Urbari Zakison, the filthy Skaven have been keeping me trapped here to serve as their smith." Urbari trailed off as he realised just how open he was being with this strange human. "But that's of no importance to an Umgi like yourself! Who are you!"

"I'm Big Boss Ranma da Weird, leader of the Fikskull tribe- and the guy who's come to get you outa here."

Urbari just blinked, even more confused now. His confusion only grew as Ranma started poking around the forge, judiciously ignoring the blackening corpse of the giant rat upon the fire other than to manoeuvre it so that the entire mass was engulfed in flames. As the Dwarf looked on in puzzlement, the gore-drenched human poked and prodded and touched and fingered and picked up and put down everything, for all the world like some little child with a room filled with fascinating toys. He knew men were, compared to Dwarfs, a very flighty race but this was frankly ridiculous. Had the youth never seen the inside of a forge before?

"Exactly what are you looking for manling?"

"A needle or an awl or something long and pointy so I can stitch this damn wound shut. You have anything?"

"No- the filthy Skaven take everything that could possible be used as a weapon from me when each day's work is done."

"Pity. Well, I'll just have to hold out until we get out of here."

"What do you mean we?"

"I just took a bath in rat-guts, got a bite taken out of me face, and spent too damn long wandering through tunnels where nobody should be stupid enough to live. If you think I'm just gonna turn around and walk out of here without you, then you're madder than I am. Now are you coming or am I gonna have ta carry yer?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me beard-boy."

Up on the surface, tensions were burning fiercely. The Greenskins slaves were posturing as best as they were able, much to the contemptuous amusement of the Fikskulls. The Skaven were nervous about being on the surface and surrounded by hostiles, while the humans were just afraid of being surrounded by so many traditionally hostile races. Something had to give soon, and it looked like the slaves were just about finished mustering the courage to make a desperate attack upon the Fikskulls when attention on all sides was suddenly drawn to the hole as a figure emerged from the darkness, accompanied by an angry voice and a rhythmic WHOK sound.

"Kruti! Wattock! Put me down you filthy Skruff!"

Bork, Widge and the de-mounted Troglahai elbowed their way through the gaping crowd to stand before Ranma, doing their best to not look disturbed.

"Uh… boss? Iz you okay?"

"I'll live. Damn rat took a chunk outa me face though. And for some reason I'z got dis weird pounding headache."

All who could hear Ranma's reply took a long, silent look at Urbari, currently being carried in a "piggyback" position and repeatedly bashing Ranma in the back of the head with Gitzduffd's staff. Then they looked back at the stoic Ranma, who finally seemed to realise the precise source of his pain and dropped the Dwarf unceremoniously upon the ground before spinning around in almost-invisible movement to yank the staff from his hands. Urbari glared at him, for a second, before the fact Greenskins –who had just called this bizarre Umgi "boss"– surrounded him. That was enough to make him curb his temper- for now. Besides, everyone was ignoring him.

"Dat's an ugly gash ya got dere boss."

"Yeah, one of those filthy rodents jumped me from behind- bit me cheek. Any of you lot know how ta stitch a wound shut?"

This question was directed at the slaves, who murmured and whispered amongst themselves before one of the strange Goblins pushed her way out of the crowd.

"I'z Wiggit Spiderwhompa, Chief Mushroom Masha ov da Blind Eye Night Goblins tribe… what's left ov it anywayz. I'z got a little Fleshknit Paste left, an' I kin stitch wounds shut- I'll tend yer face if'n ya wantz."

"Thank you. Now then, all of you slaves- listen up! You're undoubtedly wondering what we're going ta do to ya, so listen and I'll tell ya. Those of you who want to, can join me tribe and come with us on our journey. The rest of you can stick with us an' we'll give ya an escort ta wherever ya want ta be. So what's yer answer?"

_Gak, now I know this chapter is short- I'm truly sorry for the length and again for the delay. Hopefully, I'll be back on course with tomorrow's update. As you might have guessed, Ranma's just found his new Shaman- and he'll soon have the enchanted gauntlets (at least) before too long. Before any Warhammer fans point it out- I know the Dwarf character's name translates as "The merchant, son of a crazy wandering Dwarf", but I couldn't really think of any better names._

_Khazalid: the native language of the dwarfs._

_Umgi: Khazalid for "man"._

_Kruti: an insult, Khazalid for someone suffering from a disease contracted from mountain goats._

_Wattock: Dwarfish insult, in literal translation an unsuccessful prospector or down-at-heel Dwarf._

_Skruff: one of the most potent insults in Khazalid (the most potent is Unbaraki- oathbreaker), directly translates as "scrawny beard"._


	16. Chapter 16

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** reviews were a bit stingy for the last chapter. Remember that it's the reviews that inspire me to keep writing. Still, mustn't be rude. Masked Critic; I'm glad to hear you liked Urbari! No one else had much of an opinion of him, which was a bit of a surprise. If you want him to stick around, then I see no reason why not- not entirely sure how long I'll keep him, but I guess it depends on how popular he is. To Sippio; I allow Linik to write his story and I give him support if he requests it, but my story and his are different projects- I will not be trying to link mine to his in anyway. Quite the reverse

Chapter 16: Getting Acquainted

Ranma watched as the slaves talked and muttered amongst themselves, taking this opportunity to count exactly how many of them there were. Forty-four ordinary Goblins, and about twenty-six of those strange Goblins- what was it Wiggit had called them? Night Goblins? There were also twenty-three Orcs, eighteen Skaven and thirty humans. Plus Wiggit Spiderwhompa and Urbari. Finally, the talk stopped. Though he hid it well, Ranma was surprised to witness all of the Greenskins wordlessly walk over to stand amongst the Fikskulls- he was positive he'd need to crack a few heads to convince them to follow him, especially after that fiasco with Ruktar. But then again, maybe he was just paranoid. The last to come over was Wiggit, who scurried in a very spider-like manner to stand beside him, positioning herself so that she was partially hidden within his shadow. Ranma had no idea why, but ignored her and concentrated on the non-Greenskins.

"Well? What about you lot?"

Surprisingly, it was a member of the Skaven contingent who spoke up first, the biggest and most healthy-looking of the lot cautiously scuttling forward to address Ranma in the strangely accented language Ranma had privately dubbed Common.

"I be Chirrick. You say-claim that you welcome all to your Clan?"

"Aye, if ya want ta join me then I'll let ya in- on one condition. This here tribe looks out fer each other, you follow me? You try an' stab us in the back, I'll grind yer skull beneath me boot- got it? I know you Skaven ain't exactly used ta trusting, but ya won't learn unless ya try. So if yer willing to try and become something more than what ya were, come, join us."

The long-time Fikskulls, and even the relatively new ex-Rockeyes, blinked in perfect unison; they had no idea Ranma could be so, so… words failed them, though the closest thing that came to mind was "sappy". As far as they knew, Ranma was better at busting heads than spinning words- even Gitzduffd, watching through his staff and invisible to everyone bar Ranma and Wiggit (the latter, as a Shaman, could naturally see spirits), was surprised. Chirrick looked blankly at Ranma, then he and his fellow Skaven fell into a whispered chittering conversation. Within a minute though, they had evidentially come to a decision; they all nodded at each other, looked at Ranma, nodded, and then scurried forth to take a cautious place amidst the Greenskins. Ranma then looked towards the humans and at Urbari.

"Well? What about you lot?"

A heavily scarred and painfully thin man was the one who stepped forward this time, making an awkward bow.

"Oh, powerful and terrible warlord, we are poor and simple folks whose sole belongings were taken from us by the Skaven. We have nothing to offer in exchange, but we beg for our lives- surely we are too weak and feeble to be worth the effort of killing?"

"Ya know, if ya don't want to join us, all ya had ta do was say no." Ranma said nonchalantly, idly leaning on Gitzduffd's staff. At least, he looked to be idly leaning on it- the truth was his muscles were aching and the rent in his face was painful and he really, really wanted a chance to sit down and take a moment to rest. Still, as the Boss he had duties to perform- regardless of his personal feelings or opinions. Besides, the look that had sprouted on the face of each and every single human present was kind of funny.

"So is there anywhere in particular that ya wants us ta take yer?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"C'mon; you lot don't have any weapons or armour, and I'll bet it's been a while since you've eaten too. We'll escort ya to wherever ya wants to go- what better deterrent than to travel with all of us? But first things first… You lot; get back down those tunnels and see if you can find anything edible- take Chirrick and his mob with ya; they probably know where there's food to be had. Troglahai- Biteface! You two take yer mobs and git hunting, got me? The rest of ya, set camp- we'z staying here tonight. Wiggit, you come wit me; I'z getting sick of this face."

After that it was little more than general confusion as the Fikskulls hurried to obey Ranma's orders, while the humans and Urbari simply tried to avoid being trampled in the chaos. Eventually, as the last of the sun faded away and the stars speckled the night sky, the camp fires blazed merrily and the smells of roasting meat and stews filled the air, giving the clearing a rather contended feel. The Orcs eagerly chatted around the fire, swapping war stories and boasts, while the Goblins diced and, in the case of the cavalry, argued about who had managed to kill the most Skaven. The humans and the Skaven sat apart from everyone else, though the latter were drifting away in ones and twos to join in the dice games.

Urbari sat, rather sullenly, beside a particularly small personal fire, grudgingly eating a bowlful of deer stew- Ranma had ordered that the corpse-meat be restricted only to Greenskins, though the Skaven had quite willingly joined in, even munching away on the raw carcasses of their former slave-masters. Something that had disgusted the Greenskins, though whether it was because they were eating the bodies raw or because Greenskins found Skaven-flesh disgusting was anyone's guess. Urbari was still somewhat in shock; just this morning he was a Skaven slave, now he was sitting surrounded by Grobi and Urks and eating a bowlful of –extremely tasty, he had to admit– deer stew. He cautiously looked up at the looming figure of the giant –Fergee, wasn't that what one of the Grobi had called him?– then shook his head in disbelief before turning back to his stew.

"Yen fer ya thoughts?"

"Wha?" Urbari asked, jerking around in surprise to discover Ranma was standing right beside him. He hadn't even heard the Umgi approach! With a soft sigh, Ranma settled himself down upon the ground beside Urbari, simply sitting in silence as the fire played off his face, highlighting the fresh stitching where Wiggit had sewn his face back together.

"It's a type of currency from my homeworld."

"Don't you mean homeland?"

"No, homeworld. I don't come from this world. I come from… somewhere else. I'm still not entirely sure how I came to this world, but I haven't regretted it yet."

"You actually prefer the company of these Greenskins?"

"Compared to the sort of homelife I had before, this place is like paradise."

Urbari just looked at him. Then, he looked around the camp at the gambling Goblins and the now-beginning-to-brawl Orcs before turning back to Ranma.

"Yeah, right."

"I'm dead serious. For starters, I'm away from my lazy greedy moron of a father."

Urbari was shocked. Dwarf society revolved around the veneration of one's ancestors, and one's father was naturally highly respected. He barely managed to splutter this out, such was his mingled horror and fury, when Ranma laughed. A single, harsh, bitter, bleak, grim, crow-like caw of a sound.

"Respect yer father? Yeah, right- maybe if he'd ever done something that was worth respecting! He's done a lot of things for me alright- and every single one of them was bad."

"Oh come on manling! Surely you're overreacting!"

"Am I? Let me ask you something Urbari; would a father that truly cared for his only son, a father truly worth respecting, sell his only son's hand in marriage?"

"Arranged marriages are quite common in this world- there's nothing wrong with them!"

"Even if he'd already promised me to another girl before I was even born? And it's less the selling me and more the price he asked for me. Do you know how much he charged for me, his sole child, the future heir to Saotome Anything-Goes? Do you know what price he demanded for his own flesh and blood? A fried fish, barely the length of my hand, two slices of pickled radish and one stinking handful of boiled oats!" Ranma was practically shouting this last part, having paraphrased the exact details of his dowry to Kaori to something he was positive that Urbari would be able to understand. The Dwarf looked shaken by this revelation, but Ranma wasn't finished yet- this was the first time since Gitzduffd that someone had asked him about his previous life, and now the bile would just keep pouring forth inexhaustibly.

"And once he's gotten the dowry, you know what he does? He steals me away. That was the first time he pulled that trick- it wasn't the last. When I was a young boy, we stayed in this town were there was travelling food vendor and his kid. We were good friends; we played together all the time. Turned out his kid was a girl, and her father asked mine to engage us. Once he mentioned that the dowry was the family cart, pop was all too eager to get us hitched. We took the cart and the girl, then he dumped her by the side of the road and took off with me and the cart- I didn't even know about the engagement, so what could I do?"

Urbari shook his head in disbelief and disgust- he knew men could be dishonourable compared to Dwarfs, but to repeatedly break such sacred oaths? No wonder the boy seemed to hate his father so much. But Ranma wasn't done yet.

"He had no problems whatsoever with selling me to those other guys, but he always stole me back so I could uphold the one marriage he had arranged prior to my birth. And there have been plenty of times I wished he hadn't- he has the worst taste in fiancées. I am as glad to be away from her as I am to be away from him."

"Come on- surely she can't be that bad!"

"Can't be that bad, my hairy little midget? Oh yeah? She's a violent, short-tempered tomboy- she always overreacts to every single thing I do. And that's not even considering how lousy she is at cooking."

"Who are you calling a midget! And so she burn the food, so what?"

"Burns it? BURNS it? I'd be a happy man if she _just_ burned it!"

"What do you mean?'

Ranma didn't speak for several seconds, then he did something Urbari would have trouble believing until his dying days. He reached up with his hand and lazily tore a hole in the air. It wasn't exactly the biggest of holes, maybe about half as tall as Urbari- though he was pretty tall and thin for a Dwarf. It just hung there, an empty black thing, and then Ranma casually stuffed an arm into it, just like someone feeling around inside a sack. Finally he withdrew a palm-sized object, vaguely oval-shaped and black as sin, and proffered it to Urbari, who looked at it in distrust.

"What's that?"

"A bit of Akane's home-cooking I hid away before I got sent here. It's a rockcake."

He dropped it then, and it landed on the ground with a muffled "klonk" sound. Urbari blinked at it, the words escaping his mouth involuntarily.

"Emphasis on rock, it looks like."

"Mm-hmm. Black as charcoal and hard as granite. Or take a bite if you don't believe me."

As with all Dwarfs, Urbari was extremely proud and found it very hard to resist even an implied challenge. With a single swift movement he scooped the cake from the ground and bit into it with all his strength- and almost broke his jaw by doing so. Ranma had to use all of his willpower to resist the urge to smile as Urbari stubbornly bit and gnawed on the rockcake, until finally he gave up and begin banging it against a rock, less from any real belief it would help and more out of a sort of hypnotised fascination with the way it wasn't even getting scratched.

"What the heck did she make this out of? I mean, Stone Bread has the odd handful of gravel in it, but this is like she skipped the flour and just baked rock!"

"Beats me. That's one of the reasons she's such a lousy cook- she experiments; she puts stuff in that has no part in the recipe. Not to mention she doesn't look at what she's adding, so she not only puts in the wrong stuff she also puts in stuff even she wasn't intending to add. I still haven't forgotten that curry with vinegar, white wine, pineapple and horseradish she made for us one night. Nobody else in the household will touch anything she makes, but if I try and refuse she hits me. I either get the worst case of food poisoning, or I get one real headache."

"In most Dwarf clans you'd be able to divorce her for the sort of stuff you're talking about. Why-"

"-Didn't I ever bother? I didn't really have a choice in the matter; both our fathers were dead set on the marriage, and I really didn't even know anyone else I could turn to. And that's not all of what I had to put up with either. I'll tell you, I'm glad to be here. Speaking of which, can I ask you something?"

"What's that?"

"Precisely where do you live?"

Urbari's natural Dwarfish paranoia instantly kicked in; the Umgi may have done nothing threatening as yet, but that didn't mean he could be trusted as yet. Especially after what he'd just told Urbari about his father.

"Why?"

"How else are we going to take you home if where we don't know where to go? Besides, I was kinda hoping we could leave the humies with you and your family could help them get to wherever they want to go. I mean, we'z got better fings ta do then to act like tourguides."

Urbari hesitated; what should he say? His need to answer was cut off as Ranma suddenly yawned and stood up.

"Ah, it can wait until morning. G'night."

_Bit of a pointless chapter, but I think it gets the job done. Whatever the job was in the first place. In the next chapter, Ranma and the Fikskulls head for Urbari's family brewery, where Ranma finally picks up the Shockwave Gauntlets, the Fikskulls get their new armour and news of him and the Fikskulls can finally start spreading. Plus, should I have Urbari tag alone with Ranma? After all, what better way to earn fame and new recruits then by "cleansing" overrun Dwarf strongholds? Not to mention the fact that Urbari will definitely benefit from such a position; a chance to see the world, to pick up valuable fighting skills and to earn lots and lots of loot! Anyway, reviews please!_


	17. Chapter 17

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** Now that's more like it! And by popular decree, Urbari (who is just a normal Dwarf smith- not a Runesmith) is here to stay! While I'm at it, does anyone think I should have Ranma head for the Red Eye Mountain, to challenge Night Goblin Warlord Skarsnik (and his Giant Cave Squig Gobbla) for rights to the Dwarf Stronghold of Karak Ungor? To those who asked; Ranma has some of Akane's cooking because she tried to give it to him prior to his being "wished away". He stashed it in a ki pocket (something learned from observing Mousse- though he's far from an expert at making them like Mousse is) and intended to dump it, but he was sent to the Warhammer world before he got the chance. Hmm… anyone else think her rockcakes might make good sling ammo? Oh, and I forgot to translate again last chapter; Grobi and Urk are Khazalid for Goblin and Orc/Enemy respectively. Chibi-Reaper: that is a beautiful idea- a thousand thanks for giving it to me! Now the only question remaining is when to use it… perhaps for chapter 20, 25? To those who keep pestering me about the girls… like Masked Critic pointed out in his review for the previous chapter, he (and Somethin' or Other) are the only ones to actually suggest relatively detailed characters. Coupled with the fact Ranma is miles from any place where he could meet them, it'll take a while to reach them. If you really want girls, then suggest some!

Chapter 17: The Swearing of the Grudge

Urbari didn't sleep very well that night. Whilst this strange Umgi Ranma seemed a decent sort, for a human, there was still the fact he was leading around a horde of Orcs and Goblins. And there was no way on or under the world that he'd lead these monsters anywhere near his home. He considered running away, but the camp's perimeters were, much to his surprise, very well guarded- and as the guards had been chosen from the Night Goblins and Skaven, that meant he couldn't rely on the cover of darkness. He'd thought and thought, trying to figure out a way he could safely leave this place, and woke the next morning to find that he'd fallen asleep sometime during the night and still didn't have the faintest clue what he was going to do. As he resisted the urge to panic, Ranma nonchalantly strolled up to him.

"Come on Urbari, you come and eat breakfast with me. We need to talk about what we're going ta do wit you anyway."

"What is for breakfast anyway? Not some of those rockcakes I hope." Urbari said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously- more from a hope to try and avoid this than any real belief Ranma would serve up those black granite lumps he'd shown him last night. Ranma laughed gently before he answered.

"Do I look that cruel? It's reheated stew and cold leftover roast, that's all. Besides, I'm a much better cook than Akane will ever be."

"Like that's hard?" Urbari muttered to himself as he followed the human to a particularly large campfire, which was now the epicentre of a small group of Ranma's followers.

Blueart looked up at them both and snickered, only to receive an elbow in the ribs from Troglahai, seated beside her giant wolf. The Night Goblin Shaman Wiggit was also there, seated beside Chief Biteface and his giant spider and, keeping a good distance away from the spider, the Skaven Chirrick. The final members of the group were Bork and Widge, who were currently swearing softly as they tried to rekindle the fire. They easily budged aside to make room for Ranma, who patted the spot beside him in indication that Urbari should sit down. Reluctantly, the Dwarf did so, waiting for the inevitable attack from the creatures that were his natural enemies. Remarkably, it never came- they simply ignored him and stared into the flames or chatted about nothing at all while they waited for the stew to heat. Once they were eating, Ranma began speaking to Urbari.

"So where is this place of yours anyway? We ought to get started on taking you back there soon."

Urbari almost choked on his stew; trying desperately to think of a way to politely explain he'd rather cut out his tongue and gouge out his eyes then lead Greenskins to his family dwelling when, to his great surprise, Wiggit did it for him.

"I ain't sure dat's a good idea boss."

"Why not?"

"Greenies 'n' stunties go back a long way boss, an' not exactly in a good way, if yer catch me drift. We goes dere, den we'z gonna start fightin'."

Ranma blinked in surprise, mouth forming into a silent "O" of confusion before he took another spoonful of stew and swallowed it thoughtfully.

"Well then, that is a problem. Hmm… tell ya what- why don't I take ya home on me own? I mean, a lone human ain't gonna cause that much trouble, am I?"

"How can I be sure you won't lead your forces to storm the place once I show you the way?" Urbari snapped unconsciously, swallowing as the realisation of what he'd just done hit him. Ranma's face darkened, before he placed his left hand over his heart and raised his right hand in the air.

"I swear on my honour that I will not, by action or inaction, bring harm to you or to any of your kin. I have neither desire nor reason to seek a fight with you, and if I lie then may Gork and Mork strike me dead."

He sounded genuine, but Urbari wasn't entirely convinced- especially seeing as how he invoked the pagan spirits of the Greenskins as witnesses. His hesitant disbelief must have been visible, because the two Orcs present growled low in their throats, Bork breaking the uneasy silence.

"Whut's da problem stuntie? Da boss swore 'iz oaf. Wunce dat 'appens, da boss won't neva break 'iz word. Neva. 'E ain't got an oaf-breakin' bone in 'iz body. Ya can trust 'im."

Though privately still uncertain, Urbari was not going to risk provoking a fight while he was still unarmed. He nodded hesitantly before speaking.

"Alright, I accept your offer manling."

Ranma smiled, took another mouthful of stew and then clapped his hands in an authoritive manner.

"Alright then! Bork, I want you, the Bashers and Fergee to escort the humies –when they've all finished eating– back to that village we stopped at a few days ago. Make Fergee dump out that load of metal he's been carrying around in that sack of his first. Chirrick; do any of your Skaven know anything about forging metal?"

The Skaven looked thoughtful for a second, then nodded. Urbari repressed a snort of disdain.

"Good, then take this."

Ranma repeated his "trick" from the previous night, much to the amazement of Chief Biteface, Chirrick and Wiggit. The others had evidentially seen it before. This time he pulled out a weird, dusty looking scroll before shutting the hole with a snap of his fingers and then handing the scroll over to Chirrick, who opened it and looked puzzled.

"It's a design of armour from my homeworld; easier to make than full-plate, though it's just as strong, as well as being lighter and requiring less metal. I want you to get to work on reforging all the scrap metal Fergee has in his bag into armour, for yourself and for the other tribe members. You might want to get Widge or some of the Wallopers to help you. Troglahai, Biteface, I want you and yer boyz to scout the edges of the camp; make sure nobody creeps up on us while I'm gone. You all understand?"

They all nodded in unison.

"Good. Alright then, I'll just finish this, and then we'll get going- okay Urbari?"

The Dwarf simply nodded and took another spoonful of stew, wondering exactly how he'd gotten into this mess.

A few hours later and the human and the Dwarf were walking calmly through the Forest of Shadows. Urbari was nervous, a natural state of affairs given that he was unarmoured and weaponless in a local notorious throughout the Old World for its population of Beastmen and Greenskins, but Ranma was calmly walking along, hands in his pockets and whistling a jaunty tune, for all the world like some young rake out for a pleasant stroll. Urbari was truly beginning to have serious doubts about the Umgi's sanity- what sort of maniac could be cheerful in a place like this? Ranma noticed the disbelieving stares his travelling companion was giving him and beamed at the disbelieving Dwarf.

"Why so twitchy? You look like my father when he's been told that Akane's cooking dinner."

"Are you out of your mind? We're in the Forest of Shadows, just the two of us, you're the only one of us wearing armour –leather armour at that– and other than that stick strapped to your back neither of us are armed! How the hell can you be so calm?"

"Relax. I am the heir to the Saotome School of Anything-Goes Martial Arts. That means that I am, to all intents and purposes, a living weapon and easily capable of handling an entire warband on my own. Besides, much as I care for my boyz, it's still nice to be alone now and then."

Urbari looked at him askew, but said nothing. They walked along in silence for about five minutes, and then a javelin suddenly came hurtling out of the undergrowth. Ranma snatched it out of the air, snapped it in half with a squeeze of his hand, flashed a smug half-smirk half-grin at Urbari and then dove into the undergrowth in pursuit of whoever had thrown the javelin. Judging by the sounds that came drifting towards Urbari, he succeeded quite aptly. This was the perfect opportunity; Urbari could just sneak off now while the Umgi was fighting and leave him to the Beastmen or whatever else it was while he found his way back to where he belonged. Perfect opportunity it was… and yet, Urbari couldn't take it. Though he owed this Umgi nothing –he resolutely ignored the way a treacherous part of his mind piped up that he did owe him his freedom– he still couldn't bring himself to abandon him.

But what could he do? He railed to himself. He didn't have any weapons at all. And that was when a Gor suddenly came flying out of the undergrowth. He jumped backwards, ready to flee, but other than a faint groaning sigh when he hit the ground the Beastman did nothing. Urbari cautiously approached the beast, noting first that it didn't move, then the slowly bleeding handprint embedded in the front of its chest. Nervously, hardly believing he was doing so, Urbari rolled the body over to discover a massive, ragged-edged hole in the Gor's back, out of which its heart and lungs had seemingly been blasted. As he dropped it back on the forest floor, he noticed it still retained a death-grip on a battleaxe. A crude and trashy piece of weaponry it may have been compared to Dwarfish work, but an axe was an axe and an axe was a weapon and that was precisely what he needed.

Prying it from the offending appendage, which wouldn't have looked out of place on some monstrous slime-encrusted crustacean, he gave it an experimental heft, swung it once, nodded in satisfaction and then, bellowing a warcry in Khazalid, charged through the undergrowth. As he would later boast in far-off days, when he was old and grey and his beard was long enough that he could wrap it about his waist, it was a good thing he did. The human's arms had been seized by four Beastmen, while a creature like a thorn-backed dog with a human head and arms snapped and snarled at his feet while a great ape-man clad in scraps of rusty chainmail was preparing to strike off Ranma's head with his crudely-forged sword. Ranma had managed to kill at least a dozen more Beastmen, and with his bare hands too, so it definitely wasn't lack of skill that had got him into this mess.

But how this situation had happened was of less importance to Urbari than keeping it from getting worse. As he charged into the clearing he buried the "borrowed" axe in the spine of the dog-beast, wrenching it outwards just it time to parry a strike from the ape-man. As he duelled with the monster, he could see out of the corner of his eyes as Ranma finally managed to squirm loose of his grapplers, elbowing one firmly in the guts before lashing around in a neck-breaking scissors-kick. Urbari and the ape-man chopped and hacked at each other with such fury that sparks flew from their weapons. Urbari was weakened and his skills were somewhat rusty, but his opponent had evidently gotten on the wrong end of one of Ranma's punches, as one eye had been completely swallowed in a mass of shattered bone and pulped flesh.

As Ranma swivelled in the grip of one boar-like Beastman to clamp his legs around its neck before flipping his upper body over its head, using the move to wrench his victim's head clean off its shoulders, Urbari finally managed a lucky blow that gashed open the ape-man's stomach, drenching him in foul pus-yellow blood. As it screamed in pain and instinctively clamped its hands over the terrible wound, Urbari simultaneously sprang up and brought the axe spinning around to strike its misshapen head from its shoulders. As the black-furred body toppled to the ground, its entrails spurting out the gash in its belly whilst pustulant ichor fountained from the stump of its neck, Ranma walked over and gave the shaken Dwarf a friendly clap on the back.

"You gotz the right stuff Urbari! I'z gonna be sorry ta see you go. Anyway, they're all dead now, so lets you an' me be off."

Urbari shook his head in disbelief and trotted after the Umgi. Still, a part of him deep down inside was strangely elated in the battle's wake. They walked onward for about twenty or so minutes before Ranma suddenly stopped dead, a disgusted expression on his face.

"What's wrong manling? More Beastmen?"

"What? No, it's just that we're never gonna get there at this rate- we're going way too slow!"

"What do you expect me to do? Fly? It isn't like we can move any faster."

"Actually, I can move faster- a lot faster. If you'd actually agree to let me carry you, we could be there in no time whatsoever."

Urbari thought about it; the sooner he was back home, the better after all, plus he really didn't want to be stuck out here in the Forest of Shadows all night and all alone with a crazy Umgi…

"Alright manling, what are we gonna do?"

"Firstly, just hop on my back… now hang on tight."

Urbari had just barely managed to tighten his hold when Ranma started running. At first, he wasn't much faster than an ordinary person- though considering Urbari probably weighed as much as Ranma did, he was still going pretty fast. Then he began to accelerate. Faster and faster he began to move, until the trees were literally zipping past. Unconsciously pressing himself closer to Ranma, he thought he heard the Umgi whisper something that sounded like "Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken Revised". Before he could speak to the Umgi though, he started going even faster, running at speeds that Urbari thought were impossible even for a horse to match. Though he would never admit it, Urbari was frightened- even more so when he saw Ranma was charging straight for a massive tree.

"Look out you crazy Umgi!"

Ranma didn't say a word, if anything he seemed to speed up. Urbari huddled down, bracing for impact… which never came. Moving so fast he was little more than a blur, Ranma literally spiralled up the tree, ran out along a branch and launched himself skyward. Urbari was terrified as he and Ranma hurtled through empty air, positive that any second they would fall to their deaths, but instead Ranma snatched himself neatly from the air by snagging hold of a branch, dashing along it before launching himself aloft again like some monstrous great gibbon. After several minutes, Urbari began to calm down and even, secretly, to enjoy the feeling as they darted through the trees. With the combination of Ranma's speed and aerial manoeuvres, they literally ate up the miles and it wasn't long they spotted a sign indicating the way to "Zakison's Brewery". However, Ranma had a nasty feeling about the fact the sign was knocked over, though Urbari assured him that it happened all the time.

And then they burst from the treetops to land gracefully in the great clearing where Zakison's Brewery stood. Or rather, had stood. The whole place was a blackened ruin, the former brewery half-smashed to rubble. Ranma's jaw dropped at the devastation as Urbari slide from his back in disbelief.

"No… no… this can't be!"

He darted across the blackened earth, Ranma slowly following him as the distraught Dwarf disappeared into the shattered opening of a doorway. Inside wasn't much better than outside; dried bloodstains and damaged wood and stone bore silent witness to a fierce battle, though how long ago it had been fought was anyone's guess. Silently the two split apart, searching the ransacked rooms- though precisely what for was anyone's guess. High and low they searched, but not a sign of any survivors or attackers did they find. Finally, Urbari unconsciously led them into the basement and from there into the secret labyrinth of tunnels and cellars where his people might have sheltered. But there was nothing there- an entire clan of Dwarfs had simply vanished without a trace. Ranma almost got lost twice, before finally managing to track Urbari by the sounds of sobbing. He found him in a chamber filled with ransacked chests, weeping over the body of an elderly Dwarf clad in finely forged armour and, bizarrely, still wielding a finely-forged Dwarf axe whose blade glittered with obviously enchanted runes.

"Father… I should have been here… I swear that I will find who did this…" Urbari snarled this last part to himself, looking up as he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder to meet the stoic eyes of a grim-looking Ranma.

"If you'll accept it, me and the boyz will help you. I swear that we'll find whoever did this, and they will pay for what they have done."

Urbari blinked up at the Umgi, swallowed noiselessly, and then nodded. As he stood up, he gently removed the axe from his father's hands and strapped it to his belt, softly explaining to Ranma as he did so.

"It was the family axe… one of the only two rune-items we brought with us when our ancestors were forced to flee Karak Ungor."

Ranma simply nodded, and watched as Urbari gently began to remove the armour as well. Then, the old Saotome foot-in-mouth disease struck again.

"What was the other item? And do you really think you should take his armour and weapon?"

When Urbari stared at him he hastened to amend himself.

"I mean, isn't it normal to bury your dead with their armour and weapons? For their journey to the afterlife?"

"Maybe where you come from manling, but we Dwarfs pass down our armaments to our descendants. Only if he asked to be buried with them, or if he had no descendants, would we do that. As for the other rune-item, it's probably been stolen. But I wonder…"

Urbari finished dressing himself in the armour, clapping the helmet upon his head, and walked over to the far wall. There, he began tracing his hand along it, muttering to himself in Khazalid before a small hatch swung open and he voiced a grunt of surprise. He reached in and pulled out a set of metal gauntlets, spikes adorning the knuckles. Ranma blinked- he was positive he saw the occasional electrical spark surge across their surface.

"Shockwave Gauntlets. One of the items forged by great-great-great-great-great-great uncle Grimli, the Stormchaser."

"Stormchaser?"

"One night, he was caught outside of the hold in a terrible thunderstorm. He survived, but they say the experience unhinged him. He started experimenting with creating runes that invoked the powers of storms, of thunder and lightning. These gloves were one of his more successful attempts to create a rune that would imbue a weapon with the force of a thunderbolt. He was truly mad- they even say he forged a sword out of a lump of iron that fell to earth as a shooting star."

Urbari clucked his tongue and shook his head softly.

"I want you to have them."

"What? I couldn't! I mean, they're your family property!"

"They're no good to us, not now especially. Besides, they're more suited to a bare-hands warrior such as yourself. Think of it as repayment for the debt I owe you, both for saving my life and as payment in advance for your assistance in finding whoever did this."

"In that case… I accept."

Ranma hesitantly reached out and took first one gauntlet, and then the other, slipping them one by one onto his hands. They were forged of beautifully worked leather, and despite the fact they looked like they could survive a dip in molten lava they were as light as a feather. Ranma opened and clenched his fists experimentally, then nodded grimly.

"Right then, lets give your father a decent burial. Then let's go for the lads- we will find whoever did this, and they will pay."

_Okay, latest chapter up. I personally think I slipped into melodrama there but, oh well, emotional portrayal is –in my opinion– my weakest spot. Read, review, and tell me what sort of opponents you'd like to see Ranma going up against_!


	18. Chapter 18

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** apologies for the delay in getting this up- was a bit distracted by the need to attend a relative's wedding. One thing: who says Ranma has a weakness against magic? He's no spellchucker himself, but that's what Wiggit's for. Anyway, Chibi-Reaper; I like Zorna the Pale, though I'm having a bit of difficulty seeing how she's deformed (does she look more like a human girl than an Orc or something?) But I like her, and I'll try and fit her in sometime during the next few chapters. Anyway, kudos to you, to Gideon020 and (of course) to TerraBull, for some great ideas to use in this story, if not now, then further on at least. Just one thing- no Lina Inverse; I'm having enough trouble keeping this story good-quality with just one super-powered individual, I don't want to think about juggling two. By the way, I know I posted in a previous chapter that Ranma now has a unit of 18 Skaven at his command. Well, as a reviewer pointed out, I'd actually said there were more Skaven than that in an earlier chapter, so consider it a misspelling, okay? The new number in this chapter is the correct amount.

Chapter 18: Settling the Grudge

"Urbari?"

The solemn Dwarf grunted, looking up at his impromptu ally whilst idly running a finger along the blade of his father's runeaxe until a bead of blood trickled down his thumb. The newly orphaned Dwarf's face was a blank mask, his emotions kept tightly locked away. By comparison, Ranma's face plainly revealed what he was feeling, an equal-parts mixture of sympathetic sorrow and rage, with the faintest underlying tinge of bloodlust.

"I think it would best if you remained here and gave your father the burial rites he deserves. I'll return to the camp and get the boyz back here as quickly as possible. Alright?"

Urbari's hesitant nod was all Ranma required; the Dwarf's head had barely moved before he activated his newly devised revision of the Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken technique and vanished from the cellars in a streak of black. Out of the ruined brewery he darted, across blackened, war-torn earth to leap high into trees before disappearing into the upper canopy of the forest. With Urbari's weight on his shoulders, Ranma could move even faster than before, and it was merely minutes later that he landed in the middle of the camp. Much to the shock of his new recruits, who instinctively scattered like a flock of sheep that just had a ravening dire wolf pop up in their midst. As Ranma caught his breath –hurtling about at that sort of speed was tiring even for him– they slowly realised it was him and began crowding around him, the new recruits especially clamouring with questions on how he'd done that. At least, until his frayed nerves snapped and the next Goblin to ask him received a brain-rattling thump across the ear, after which they shut up and let him speak.

"Get yer gear tagevva; we'z moving out!"

"Whut? Why?"

"Urbari's brewery's been burned ta da ground, an' I sayz we'z gonna find da lousy gitz dat did it an' fump 'em! Well? Whatcha standing around fer?"

The boyz were confused, who wouldn't be, but as always the prospect of carnage (coupled with their naturally very healthy fear of Ranma) drowned out any possible concerns or arguments. The camp was instantly flung into chaos as boyz scrambled for their gear, pulling down tents and stuffing gear into packs, which were in turn flung onto backs, and arguments quickly developed as ownership of various knick-knacks was disputed. It was into this confusing medley that Chirrick emerged, blinking in confusion and incomprehension.

"What's going on?"

"We'z leavin'! Da boss's got a new fight fer uz!" yelled one Orc, whereupon Chirrick's eyes grew wide with shock.

"But the armour! We're not finished-done!"

"Skip it Chirrick, we'z just gonna have ta leave it behind an' come back fer it." Ranma said, leaping over a cluster of Goblins currently rolling along the ground in a furious brawl to stand beside the startled Skaven. Chirrick chittered wordlessly- or at least, it sounded wordless to Ranma. It was actually Queekish, the native tongue of the Skaven, but Ranma had no way of knowing that. Ignoring the Skaven, Ranma simply inhaled deeply to bellow a new set of orders.

"You boyz that used ta be slaves; yer staying here. Ya need ta get yer strength back, and when Bork, da Bashers an' Fergee get back yer gonna have ta tell 'em what's happened. Da rest of you are comin' wit me!"

That didn't go down as well, but as the first Orc to try protesting was knocked unconscious with a single blow (while Ranma did indeed care for his boyz, and was fiercely protective of them, he admitted to himself that sometimes they needed "tough love") the former slaves didn't do much more than grumble about it. The sole exception were the forty Skaven former slaves; not just because they lacked the battle-thirst of their Greenskin allies, but also because this meant that they could continue forging the armour as Ranma had instructed. Now organized, the other Greenskins began marching off into the forest as quickly as possible, Ranma darting through the trees as his desire to get back to Urbari quickly warred with his recognition of the fact that his boyz wouldn't be able to keep up if he went "full-bore".

It was beginning to grow dark by the time Urbari finally finished putting his father to rest. He'd managed to find a tomb (like most Dwarfs, the Zakisons had constructed a family mausoleum amidst the network of tunnels, cellars and basements that ran beneath their dwelling) that was both unoccupied and relatively undamaged, but making it a decent burial chamber for his father had been long and hard work. The rest of the time had been spent looking for the Zakison Dammaz Kron, the family's Book of Grudges- the almost holy book within which were stored details of all the wrongs that had been done to their family for countless generations, including those prized few for which recompense had been won. Unfortunately, there hadn't been a single sign of it. Urbari vigorously fought the idea that the book may have been destroyed in the attack- such a thing was unthinkable!

It was only the sound of a large group approaching that drew him from his search. Clutching his father's runeaxe tightly in his hands, the Dwarf cautiously crept up into the mangled husk of the brewery- if the slayers of his kinsfolk had returned, then he would make a proper account of himself before journeying to the hall of his ancestors! He snuck up to a sufficiently large hole that he could see out of, and wasn't sure if the feeling that washed over him upon sighting the source of the commotion was Ranma and his army was relief, disappointment, rage, joy or disgust. He casually stepped out through the busted wall and waved his axe at the Greenskins, whereupon Ranma performed one of his amazing leaps to land gently beside him.

"Is it done?" He asked in a surprisingly soft, gentle voice. Urbari blinked in surprise, especially when he realised that the human was actually, genuinely sorry for him, then nodded once. Ranma nodded in reply before turning back to the Greenskins.

"Ya got two options; ya can spend da night here an' go after da scumbags what did this at first light, or ya can go now!"

"Now! Now! Now!" The blood-crazed mobs bayed, waving their weapons in the air. A combination of the keen noses of the dire wolves of Troglahai's Marauders, and Widge's own tracking skills, quickly picked up the trail of whoever had attacked this brewery. Within minutes the Fikskulls were on the road again, Urbari and Ranma at their heads with Shirotaka flying overhead, alongside Wiggit- much to Ranma's surprise.

"Didn't I tell you ta stay behind?" he asked the Night Goblin Shaman, shouting somewhat to make himself heard over the clamour of Greenskins (and righteously furious Dwarf) racing through the woodlands. Wiggit nodded, a sheepish grin on her face, before replying.

"Yeah, ya did, but ya needz a Shaman boss! Me magic's gonna be a big help!"

"Alright, alright, knock of da waterworks- it's too late ta send ya back anyway. Just try not ta get killed."

"Trying like hell boss."

The adrenaline was coursing through Ranma's veins with such vigour that it felt like mere minutes, though it was probably more akin to several hours, before a signal came Troglahai's Marauders, who were scouting ahead. Ranma own quick bellow brought the charging mob to a screeching halt, and after about a minute spent alternatively swearing and straightening things out they began moving forward- this time with a great deal more silence. Ranma and Urbari were at the front, moving up to stand besides Troglahai and look through the undergrowth where she had positioned herself. Beyond lay a clearing, where the light of campfires illuminated about four, maybe five, wooden cages on wheeled platforms. Within those cages wounded Dwarfs sat, stood or lay unconscious, the conscious ones glaring hatefully at the occupants of the camp. Said occupants, much to Ranma's shock and disgust, where humans- a motley band of heavily scarred brigands and bandits, who clearly intended to sell their Dwarf captives as slaves.

"Boss? We attack?" Troglahai asked cautiously, staring at the branch Ranma was currently grinding into splinters between his fingers. His hand clenched shut, annihilating the innocuous lump of foliage, and then a cold, cruel smile spread slowly across his features.

"Oh yes… Attack!"

"WAAAGH!"

With their usual eagerness the Fikskulls burst through the undergrowth, descending upon the startled bandits like a green tidal wave. Battle was joined with brutal abandon, the brigand guards bending bows to unleash a volley of missiles that felled a dozen Orcs before their vengeful kin ripped them limb from limb. Ranma ducked effortlessly beneath the swing of one bandit before lashing out with a gauntlet-clad hand, burying it up to the wrist in the guy's stomach, smirking cruelly at the look of horror and anguish that his victim's face contorted itself into a split-second before he erupted in an explosion of gore. Now drenched in blood and speckled with tiny chunks of flesh and bone, Ranma blinked in surprise before smiling and laughing gleefully- these gauntlets Urbari had given him truly were a prize to be treasured.

Meanwhile, Urbari was hewing his way through the enemy, chanting traditional Dwarf litanies of vengeance and retribution. Beneath the keen, rune-sharpened edge of his wrath-propelled axe, flesh and armour alike split with such precision it was as though they parted like water to allow the blade passage through the space they had once occupied. A particularly brave –or just plain stupid– trio of bandits tried to bury him, but he hacked them in half, their entrails spewing forth in the wake of his ever-thirsting axe until he dripped with blood and human intestines wound themselves about his head and limbs like some grisly shroud. Slicing another bandit's head from his shoulders and then crushing the dismembered skull beneath his boot, he ploughed into the enemy in a manner that wouldn't have been amiss for a Slayer, chanting all the while.

Widge howled with glee as he brought his mace in an overhead arc to crush a bandit's skull to pulp, helmet and all. As three more bandits charged him he raked the mace upwards to his left, using the spikes to eviscerate the bandit coming at him from that direction, then continued the momentum to bring it slamming into the side of a second bandit's head with neck-shattering force. The third bandit took advantage of his distraction to dart in and slash at his chest with his sword, but Widge's skin was so tough after so much fighting –and Widge himself was so pumped with adrenaline– that the wound didn't even cause a flinch. Instead, he slugged the human fair in the mouth with a meaty fist, and then brought the mace down to shatter his spine whilst he was on his hands and knees. As he barked with laughter and looked around for more opponents he was somewhat disappointed to see that there were none- all the bandits near him were either dead or fighting someone else.

Then something caught his attention; he was standing beside one of the cages where the humies where holding stunties prisoner. He stared at the ramshackle contraption in confusion, idly scratching his head with the spikes of his mace. Why did he feel he was forgetting something? Then it hit him- the boss had said they were fighting these gitz because they'd burned down the brewery where that stuntie came from. And didn't these stunties look like that other stuntie? Yeah, they did. But how was he gonna get them out of that cage? Then he looked at the cage, looked at his mace, looked back at the cage, then at his mace again as a wide grin spread across his face.

Gripping his mace in both hands, chanting a prayer to Gork and Mork, he drew it back and simultaneously stepped forward whilst bringing it whipping around to slam with all the force he could muster into the cage door. When the door failed to shatter, he glared with it before striking it again, once, twice, thrice. When still it resisted him he tossed his mace to the ground before bellowing his disgust and fury and then charging forward to seize the door with both great paws. Howling and spitting with fury he wrenched and heaved upon the weakened wood, which splintered and snapped apart beneath the fury of a raging Orc. Finally, he tore the whole mangled mess clean off the wagon and threw it aside in disgust before stooping down to seize his mace and then look inside. The Dwarfs stared back at him, a tinge of fear in their defiant glares before he grunted nonchalantly.

"Whut're ya standin' around in dere fer? Dere's stompin' ta do!"

Ranma was laughing with insane glee, fully and willingly lost in the joy of battle, the quasi-berserk state of mind his father had unwittingly instilled in him, that strange point in existence where the sound of screams was the sweetest of music and the feeling of bones shattering beneath his fists was better than any orgasm. Not that Ranma actually knew what an orgasm was, but he would have clobbered anyone who dared to point that out. He seized two bandits by their heads and then smashed their faces together with such force he crushed their skulls to gory pulp before throwing his head back in a howl of joy. Like some insane elemental force he danced across the battlefield, leaving mangled corpses and shattered bones in his wake. Though Ranma would have once been utterly horrified at himself, he was now so used to killing, and so enraged by what his victims had done to Urbari, that he could slaughter them all with a clear conscious.

Finally emerging, somewhat reluctantly, from his deranged state, he surveyed the battlefield proudly. Though they had lost maybe seventeen Orcs and twenty-three Goblins, the enemy had been utterly crushed. He bellowed triumphantly, then looked across the field for Urbari, finally spotting the organ-bedecked Dwarf heading towards –here he had to blink in disbelief– a group of new Dwarfs. Shouting orders to cease pursuit, he bounded across the gory field to land slightly behind Urbari- whose reunion didn't seem to be going as well as it should have. Urbari and an elderly Dwarf were speaking to each other in Khazalid. Correction, make that shouting at each other in Khazalid. Finally, the elder Dwarf grated out something in particularly venomous tone that had Urbari dumbstruck.

The elder spat at Urbari's feet, then turned and rattled something to the other Dwarfs, who all turned their backs on Urbari and began marching away as the gory Dwarf collapsed to his knees. The Fikskulls let the Dwarfs go, both because they anticipated Ranma's commands and because they were preoccupied looting the battlefield. Ranma, on the other hand, was more concerned with Urbari. He softly walked up behind the stricken Dwarf and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

"Urbari? Is everything all right? What just happened- why aren't you going with your clan?"

"I… I've been disowned… they've cast me out." Urbari finally managed to choke. Ranma almost thought the dwarf was about to begin to cry. Uncaring of what anyone might say, he knelt down beside him and wrapped his arms around the beardling in a gesture of support and comfort.

_Okay, rather a dull ending, but I just couldn't think of anything to write that would truly do it justice. Next chapter should be up tomorrow. Just to clarify, Ranma is maybe two-three months walk away from the foothills of Karak Ungor; I can stretch that out into as many chapters as you want me to. Don't forget that Ranma's going to travel quite a bit through this story- after the Karak Ungor storyline, do you want me to continue with the original plan of heading south towards the Badlands and, from there, the Southlands, or do you want me to take them west and sail to Albion? Also, I've had a few people saying that they wish I'd gone with the "And Hell Followed With Him" storyline- does anyone think that, when I finish this story or simply can't go any further with it, I should start writing that story? If so, tell me which of the Chaos Gods you want me to make Ranma a Champion (and eventually Daemon Prince (or Exalted Daemon- you choose)) of? For those who don't know, the choices are: Chaos Undivided (general "Dark Knight"), Khorne (Bloodshed, Destruction, Combat), Tzeentch (Magic, Transformation, Chaos), Slaanesh (Perfection, Hedonism, Sensation) and Nurgle (Disease, Despair, Fear)._


	19. Chapter 19

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** okay, nobody minded the ending to the previous chapter, and a lot of people want me to do AHFWH after WR! Is finished- though a couple of people seem to think I'm going to merge the two storylines. I'm not- I want to keep them separate as possible given the fact they share the same basic concept (Ranma gets sent to the WFB world). So far, the most popular choice for Ranma's patron is Tzeentch, with Chaos Undivided and Slaanesh coming second and third, Khorne fourth and Nurgle dead last. As I actually prefer Tzeentch myself, I can see why people seem to go for him. Anyway, as no one really specified that they wanted Karak Ungor, and as one reviewer vehemently opposed the idea of taking them there –at least at this point in the story– I went with the current option. Apologies to those disappointed, but still, in a couple of chapters Ranma should reach Sylvania. Vampire turf. Also, Albion is an island rich in rain and swamps (and magical artefacts, but mostly rain and swamps) far across the sea. It's quite hard to reach, but then again Ranma and his boyz love a challenge…

Chapter 19: Goin' South

It was now almost a week since that battle with the slavers. After his clan had banished him, Ranma and the Fikskulls had welcomed the outcast Urbari into their ranks. Well, in a manner of speaking; even the Fikskulls weren't exactly welcoming in the conventional manner. Instead, they'd simply shown their tolerance by their reaction to his presence amongst them- or lack thereof. They not only treated him as though he had a right to be amongst them, but also as though he'd always been amongst them. Though Urbari had, naturally, been extremely depressed after his exiling –and Ranma didn't blame him for that– he was beginning to recover. And it had been a very odd event that had helped him start to recover.

Chirrick had finally emerged from the ruins of the former warren of Clan Rotstump, bearing with him the first completed suit of Orc-compatible Samurai-styled armour. As he was showing off the fruits of his labour to Ranma, Urbari had wandered by and begun examining the armour, intrigued by its style. He and Chirrick had begun discussing ways to improve the quality, and then disappeared back down into the forge. With a Dwarf helping with the smithing, production had gone much quicker and with far greater quality; virtually all of the Orcs were now equipped with the equivalent of full-plate, as were the Skaven, but the store of salvaged metal was completely exhausted. Coupled with the fact that the horde was beginning to exhaust the local food supply, it was time to move out.

And that was what was troubling Ranma. He'd left the camp early that morning, with the excuse he wanted to give Shirotaka further training in serving as a mount –the albino Wyvern was now large enough to bear Ranma's weight– but the truth was that he had left so as to be able to think on what he was going to do. Flying high above the forest canopy on Shirotaka's back –hey, just because the reason was a lie it didn't mean he that he didn't want to take Shirotaka for a flight– Ranma pulled the Wyvern into a circle and pulled his staff from across his back, aiming to speak to his most knowledgeable advisor.

"_Whut iz it boss?"_

"The boyz iz getting itchy. So where da ya suggest we go?"

_"Personally? I sayz ya should head fer da Badlands- dat's prime Orc turf, dat iz. Yeah, head ta da Badlands an' get yerself some more Orcs."_

"Okay… where's the Badlands? I am a stranger to this world."

_"South. Just head south, an yoo'll get dere soon enuff."_

"Ya can't be a bit more specific than that?" Ranma grumbled to himself, but in a good-natured way. "Go south" was a pretty nebulous piece of advice, but at least it was a goal of some description. Not to mention it gave him a fair bit of leeway in how he went about achieving that goal. Happy now that his most pressing problem was solved, Ranma slung the now-silent staff back across his back before leaning over to stroke Shirotaka's thickly muscled neck.

"Okay boy, let's go down."

The albino Wyvern roared, a tinge of discontent in its voice, but obeyed Ranma's commands all the same. He truly was a pleasure to train; he was so smart, and reacted to Ranma's commands with such obedience. Once they were firmly on terra firma, Ranma stroked its head before striding further into the camp, surveying his people with hands placed on hips. He clicked his tongue and shook his head at the sight of them all lazing around, then promptly bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"Come on youz! Getcha gear together! We'z movin' out! Come on! Get up ya lazy gitz! Double-time!"

Ranma repressed a chuckle; he really did get way too much enjoyment from watching the anarchy that resulted whenever he did this. As Fergee lifted himself off the ground, grumbling with rage that was really more faked than real as he brushed off the Goblins who'd erected their tents upon his torso, Ranma walked over and disappeared down the tunnel that led into the former Skaven warren. The Skaven and Night Goblins both preferred to sleep down here, and while it did keep them out of the occasional brawl it sometimes meant that they couldn't hear Ranma's orders. And as much as it occasionally annoyed him to have to come down here to get them, he was not about to puke up a lung learning to make himself heard through the soil. Not to mention he was unsure that it was actually possible anyway.

The first point of call was the large cavern that served as the Night Goblin quarters, where his enthusiastic bellow practically started a civil war as the Gobbos fell over each other trying to reclaim their recently gambled property. Next was the Skaven nest, a place that Ranma normally preferred to avoid if at all possible. His marching orders here provoked an instinctive barrage of thrown daggers, all of which Ranma snatched from the air. Most leaders would have taken offense at that, but as far as Ranma was concerned it was nothing more than a polite "how do you do?". The final port of call was the forge, where he found Urbari and Chirrick discussing the finer details of some metal-forging technique or the other, the under-smiths having been sent back to the nest due to the fact there was literally nothing to do. They looked up as he came in.

"Hello manling. What do you want?"

"Nothin'. Just came to tell you two ta pack yer gear; we're leaving this place."

As neither of the two smiths actually had anything to pack, they quickly joined Ranma in heading for the surface. Once they, Chirrick quickly scurried over to join his Skaven underlings –Urbari always remained apart and wouldn't join any units; but then overcoming countless generations of hatred wasn't easy, the simple fact he was willing to fight alongside them was enough for the Fikskulls– and Ranma walked over to mount Shirotaka. Launching himself into the air, he circled the clearing, taking in all of his troops before grinning widely.

"Alright boyz! Let'z go! Da Badlands are calling us!"

Other than a slight confusion over which way was south, the Fikskulls were quickly on the move. Mounted on Shirotaka, Ranma flew ahead, officially on reconnaissance, unofficially because he simply so enjoyed flying. Surprisingly, the journey was uneventful; by the time the day ended and they were forced to set camp, the only enemy they'd encountered was a Khornate Beastman warherd- which they'd outnumbered roughly twenty to one. A smarter force would have chosen discretion as the better part of valour- these lamebrains had charged right towards Ranma's army. Those few that made it through the hail of arrows were quickly cut down by almost bored Orcs- the Fikskulls were definitely in need of a new challenge. Finally, the sun dropped and the tired Greenskins, Skaven, Human, Giant and Dwarf set up camp. And so it continued for almost a week; the Fikskulls would wake up at dawn, slog southwards until dusk, then go back to sleep only to repeat the cycle the next morning.

They were far enough east that they managed to skirt past Wolfenburg, but Ranma was unsure whether to head westwards and try and dart between Hergig and Bechafen after crossing the River Talabec so as to be able to head straight for the ruins of Mordheim (Chirrick and Urbari had helpfully supplied Ranma with a map of the Empire), or to head east and then cross the River Uskoy before circling around through the Eerie Downs to reach the ruins of the legendary City of the Damned. It was such a conundrum that Ranma actually called the trip to a halt while he and the various characters he had informally dubbed his "lieutenants" discussed which way to go. While he personally wanted to try the circular route –after all it wasn't like they were in any hurry– as did Urbari and Chirrick, Troglahai, Wiggit and Chief Biteface were arguing for the direct route, with Bork and Widge uncaring as to which way they were going. But as it would turn out, their delay was to cause that which Ranma had been seeking to avoid- namely a confrontation between the Fikskulls and an imperial army.

It started when Troglahai's Marauders and the Creepy Crawlies suddenly came charging into the camp after a scouting mission, with heavy casualties amongst both their ranks, shrieking about an imperial army that was practically behind them. Ranma quickly began organising the Fikskulls into a defensive position; though he didn't want to fight humans against whom he held no grudge, the safety of the Fikskulls was upon his shoulders. And he would fight the world to keep them safe.

Captain Gunder Albrechtson, leader of this peacekeeping force, smiled grimly. He and his men were a coalition of forces from both Hergig and Bechafen, having been deployed for the purpose of cleansing the local woods of inhuman monsters such as Chaos warbands, Beastmen warherds and, of course, Greenskins. It had been quite a stroke of luck that they'd managed to take those two mobs of Goblin cavalry by surprise, but the greater surprise was that they'd managed to escape. No matter. The army at his command would easily track them down, and they were certainly powerful enough that they could destroy the Orc Waaagh that was clearly against them. From his warhorse, he surveyed his forces with great pride. A regiment each of Halberdiers, Spearmen, Swordsmen, Archers, Handgunners and Crossbowmen, each regiment numbering sixty men and accompanied by twenty Pistoleers, a Great Cannon, a Mortar and, his pride and joy, a Helblaster Volley Gun. With his boon companions Paladin Andersong, a Warrior-Priest of Sigmar, and Pyrus Asche, a Magister of the Fire College, he was confident the day would be won. He drew his Sword of Battle and signalled the advance.

"Forward men! We'll show these filthy Greenskins that these lands belong to the heirs of Sigmar!"

With prayers to the patron deity of the Empire on their lips, the army charged through the pitiful barrier of undergrowth that separated them from their inhuman enemies. And then the battle was joined; as the humans emerged from the treeline, unnaturally accurate volleys of arrows whistled through the air to descend upon them, transfixing throats and hearts and sending casualties crashing to the ground to be trampled underfoot by their comrades. The ranged regiments quickly drew their weapons into firing positions; handguns roared and crossbows twanged, sending projectiles skimming through the air to punch through the ranks of the enemy, though the casualties inflicted were not as great as they had anticipated.

Goblin Wolf and Spider Riders screamed and whooped as they charged the Pistoleers in a pincer movement, eager for vengeance. Fergee stoutly ignored the arrows peppering his face and upper torso like darts, instead bending to rip a great boulder from the earth and hurl it at the Archers, crushing at least half their ranks to pulp. His triumphant roar was drowned by the sound of a mortar round landing and detonating bare inches behind him, throwing the giant to the ground. From his position high in the sky, coordinating the attack (and occasionally hurling down the odd Gitbuster), Ranma shrieked like an insane animal, only for the noise to change to a whoop of glee as Fergee levered himself off the ground, glaring hatefully at the warmachine that had just robbed him of his dignity.

Bork howled with joyous glee as he led his boyz in a glorious charge towards the ranks of the humies, more specifically towards a weird-looking warmachine. It was a triangular shape, each "line" composed of three metal tubes welded together. As the Orcs dashed towards the machine, it suddenly exploded with a mighty explosion of sound, smoke and flame. Bork found himself hurled to the ground with tremendous force, ribs audibly breaking. His defiant roar was somewhat choked with pain, but he hauled himself to his feet. His head was throbbing, and he couldn't seem to see any of his boyz. But surely they were right beside him? After all, they'd been there just a second ago. But what was that weird gunk splattered all over him? He shook those thoughts aside, pushed the pain down into the deepest depths of his mind, and resumed his charge, yelling at his boyz to hurry up and pull themselves together.

Ranma was horror-struck. He'd just seen Bork's Bashers, one his most reliable, most faithful regiments, many of his oldest friends amongst the Fikskulls, blown into a gory mess, reduced to little more than blood and armour fragments smeared in a great splotch across the ground. He wanted to scream, but his treacherous throat choked him, refusing to let a sound escape past his gaping lips. Consumed equally with horror, fury and sorrow, he forgot that he was currently seated upon Shirotaka, high above the battlefield, all that mattered to him was revenge. He hurled himself from the Wyvern's back, launching himself in a diving-kick aimed directly at the regiment of Halberdiers that had just broken a squad of Goblins. Unconsciously he began to channel the emerald ki –the Waaagh energy, Gitzduffd called it– into himself, becoming surrounding by a coruscating emerald aura. Like a thunderbolt he landed amidst the Halberdiers, producing an earth-shattering explosion that sent the humans flying in all directions. The survivors barely managed to scramble to their feet when Ranma finally managed to voice his emotions, tearing into them with berserker fury.

Urbari swung his runeaxe with deadly efficiency, silent as the grave as he hacked and hewed through the ranks of the Umgi Swordsmen. He beheaded one victim, and then cleaved two more in half at the waist. As he looked around for new kills, a powerful blow struck his helmet from behind, sending him stumbling forward. However, Dwarf skulls have been engineered by countless generations of evolution to be tougher than bedrock boulders, and coupled with his ancestral armour this meant that Urbari wasn't even stunned, whirling around just in time to block another attack with the haft of his runeaxe. His opponent, wielding a two-handed warhammer, was dressed in the traditional raiment of one of the warrior-branch of the priesthood of the manlings' patron god, Sigmar. His opponent was visibly surprised to discover that his opponent was a Dwarf, and Urbari quickly seized advantage of that shocked state to perform a leaping headbutt that crushed his enemy's nose flat, blood spurting to cover his helmet. Urbari slashed at his opponent's knees, but the manling priest ignored the blood gushing down his face to counter with his hammer, whereupon a savage duel began between the human and the Dwarf.

Pyrus cackled insanely as he drew upon the Wind of Fire, preparing to send flaming death hurtling into the ranks of his enemies. He had barely sent the pulsing orb of flames into the air when it suddenly exploded in a shower of brilliant, but harmless sparks. He glared in all directions, seeking the enemy sorcerer who had dared to dispel his work, and finally his eyes met those of a robed Goblin on the other side of the field. The diminutive Greenskin cackled and summoned a jet of emerald fire, which Pyrus responded to by conjuring forth a great serpent of flames, which lunged forward and swallowed the fire in its mighty jaws before snapping at its tail and devouring itself.

The Goblin Shaman looked impressed despite itself. And thus began a sorcerer's duel, flames and lightning bolts of emerald green clashing with fiery bolts. Neither could quite get the upper hand, until it was Pyrus' turn again; howling with a sound like a forest fire he called the mystic syllables. However, rather than the familiar feeling of the Wind of Fire coursing against his skin, he felt a sudden deep chill. An inhuman bellow of laughter suddenly rattled the trees, and Pyrus screamed in terror as the very sky ripped open and a monstrous taloned hand burst through the weeping gash in reality to seize him and haul him out of the world of mortals. He had messed with more raw magic than was good for him, and now it was time to pay the price.

Captain Gunder snarled with fury as he gutted an Orc with a furious riposte. This battle was not going at all as he had anticipated; the Greenskins were fighting with frankly unnatural order and determination. He laughed triumphantly as the Great Cannon thundered and blew a hole through the chest of the Stone Troll that had been ripping its way through the ranks of the Spearmen, a blow that proved mortal even for that regenerating abomination. His good humour was drowned by a sudden scream of rage and despair, just barely managing to dodge as a mangled corpse literally flew through the air where he had been standing just moments before. He turned to see the source of the unusual attack and boggled at the sight of a human youth clad in strange leather armour and wearing bizarre gauntlets literally smashing his way through the ranks of his soldiers to reach him. An almost casual backhand sent a Handgunner sprawling with his neck smashed, while another soldier who tried to get between him and Captain Gunder had his heart literally torn out.

"C'mere!"

He lunged for Gunder with a speed the Captain could barely react to, bringing his sword up just in time to block an axe-kick that probably would have shattered his neck. The two fought, sword versus gauntlet-clad hands and feet, and the battle was almost impossibly close. Finally, Gunder saw an opening that he instantly took advantage of, but rather than opening up his opponent's chest his sword simply glanced off the leather armour as though it had struck solid steel. In return his opponent's arm lashed out, striking Gunder's sword from his hand before the youth's other hand clamped around Gunder's throat like a vice. The Captain gasped and choked, trying to pry loose the fingers that were rapidly cutting off his breath, but to no avail. The boy effortlessly dragged the man close until their faces were practically touching.

"Are yer gonna call off yer boyz if'n I letz ya? Or do I just choke da life outta ya right here 'n' now?"

Gunder tried to breathe, choking and gasping desperately, but no use- the boy plainly meant what he was saying. Finally, Gunder managed to nod, whereupon the iron grip was released. Sucking in great, desperate lungfuls of air, Gunder finally managed to regain enough of his voice to call out his orders.

"Cease hostilities!"

"STOP!" the human bellowed, his voice like the roar of a cannon. In an instant the Greenskins stopped pressing the attack, whereupon the humans also, with a great deal of confusion, stopped fighting. Gunder's chest heaved as he tried to regain his breath, while the strange youth glared at him coldly.

"Yoo an' me are gonna talk…"

_Okay, first big battle scene in, well, ever. Hope it wasn't too big a disappointment. Anyway, which of the two possible routes mentioned in this chapter (west then south, or east and semi-circle to the south) do you think I should have Ranma and the Fikskulls take? Ah well… reviews please! And many, many thanks to Sasswot2000, for his inspired character Jean L'lonnois, who I intend to add when Ranma finally reaches Sylvania._


	20. Chapter 20

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** okay, two things; I do NOT intend to have Ranma have anything to do with Chaos during this story; Ranma becoming a Chaos Champion is the premise of "And Hell Followed With Him", which is and was always intended to be a separate story to Waaagh Ranma. Secondly, the City of the Damned is just a nickname for Mordheim, which is currently in ruins- but still inhabited, in my opinion. The previous chapter's scene with Bork seems to be causing some confusion, so I'll explain what happened; the Helblaster fired all nine barrels simultaneously, blowing the Orcs under Bork's command to pieces, but Bork himself survived (relatively) unscratched. Also, Booyah, reviewers are quite free to suggest characters to have Ranma and the Fikskulls encounter. I kind of wish you'd done WFB stats for them like Sasswot2000 did for his character, but anyway. I'm sorry I didn't do the "chat" Ranma had with Gunder, but I'm not entirely sure I could have done it right. Still, I'm sure you can imagine how it went.

Chapter 20: New Face in the Mob

"Stinking human… I should've wrung his filthy neck! Twisted it until the bones crunched!"

"Now, now boss, calm down; it ain't good fer ya ta get dis worked up." Wiggit said consolingly. It had been over a week since that battle against Captain Gunder's forces, and Ranma was still stewing over the loses they'd taken. Never mind that they still had Troglahai's Marauders and Chief Biteface's Creepy Crawlies –albeit at half-strength– and never mind they'd only lost about fifty out of a hundred and thirty Orcs, Ranma was still furious. He'd blamed himself fiercely for a day or so afterward, only snapping out of his funk after Bork had, in sheer desperation, slugged him across the face. After all, it was thanks to him that the casualties had been so light- it could have been much worse.

But still Ranma took it hard. Even the fact that, in the course of reaching the Eerie Downs (where they currently were), they'd "assimilated" forty new Orcs into the tribe to replace the casualties they'd taken –not to mention the eighty new Goblins and three Trolls– hadn't cheered him any. So he continued to brood, and even Urbari was at a loss why- the veteran Fikskulls were especially lost; they'd never known him to take the suffering of casualties with such severity before.

Truth be told, even Ranma had no idea why he was so upset. After all, it wasn't like the Fikskulls hadn't suffered casualties before- that was part of war. So why couldn't he stop constantly replaying the events of that battle in his mind, over and over again? An ever-looping play-by-play of the conflict, highlighting his self-declared failures as a leader… if something didn't happen to distract him soon, he was positive he was going to go mad.

BOOOOM!

A monstrous explosion suddenly split the air, inducing instinctive panic in the Fikskulls and startling Ranma so badly he almost slipped off Shirotaka's back, just barely managing to hook his foot around the Wyvern's neck and prevent himself from taking a dive in stinking, neck-deep mud. He quickly pulled himself back upright, frantically scanning the Fikskulls for signs of what had just happened.

"Whut the zog was that! Everyone okay?" he shouted, melancholia shattered by the sudden surge of protective instincts.

"We'z fine! Wasn't wun ov us!" they shouted back. A quick scan proved the truth of that sentence before Ranma's eyes finally caught sight of a billowing cloud of smoke. His eyes narrowed.

"I'll check it out- you lot stay here."

He didn't give them any chance to answer, instead squeezing Shirotaka with his knees in a signal to get flying, a command the albino Wyvern readily agreed to. With a roar the creature ascended into the air, flying towards the smoke cloud without any instructions from Ranma. By the time they reached the spot from which it had originated though, the cloud had disappeared. They circled the spot as Ranma tried to spot a likely source for the cloud, then Ranma finally managed to make out something that looked like a ramshackle, partially collapsed hut down in the mere below. He pointed at the messy clump of wood and Shirotaka nodded once before diving downwards, landing a fair distance away from the hut. Ranma cautiously advanced towards the shattered, free-swinging door, poised to fight or flee as appropriate.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

It was hard to say what Ranma was expecting. A high-pitched tittering giggle, followed by the door swinging open and a hissing black ball being flung through the air towards him definitely wasn't it.

"Earthquake! Milkshake! BOOM!"

This was followed by a maniacal cackle, which rather unexpectedly actually grew in fervour when Ranma, with the ease of long practise, batted the projectile into the air with a casual swing of his arm, easily ignoring the resultant explosion. If this unnerved Ranma, then he didn't show it, instead casually folding his arms across his chest before speaking in a nonchalant tone of voice.

"You don't get many visitors, do you?"

"Word iz bond, I'z gonna blow you up!"

This time what came from within the hut was something like a crude rocket-propelled grenade, which Ranma dodged by simply twitching his torso in the right direction bare seconds before it struck him, allowing it to corkscrew onwards to detonate somewhere behind him- Shirotaka having cleared off into the air when the first bomb had been thrown out. Ranma smirked at the unseen bomber.

"Is that all you have? I've seen firecrackers with more of a bang."

Another demented laugh this time, followed by a high-pitched, rapid burst of speech.

"Yer a cool 'un! Most goes runnin' when Squee starts bombin'!"

"Well, I ain't most folks. Now, are you gonna come out? Or am I gonna have ta come in after ya?" Ranma replied, taking first one step towards the hut, and then another. On the third step, the unseen occupant called out again, a definite tinge of fear in its voice.

"Stay back! I'z got explosives!"

"I know ya do, but they ain't done ya any good so far, have they?"

Finally the door flew open as the occupant stepped out. It was all Ranma could do to keep from laughing in disbelief; the occupant was a particularly short and scrawny Goblin, maybe five inches shorter than Blueart. He was wearing a tattered and scorched leather trenchcoat, and his skin was splotched with great patches of crimson- as though he had some sort of horrific skin disease. Finally, he was straining to carry a massive, vaguely blunderbuss-like weapon, which he had pointed at Ranma.

"Laugh at dis! Ain't no wun gonna get da best of Squee!"

"Okay, I think we're both on different tracks here. Exactly what do you think I'm here ta do?"

"Don't choo try an' fool Squee! I knowz yer here ta steal me secret recipe!"

"Secret recipe?"

"Yeah! Fer turning gold inta lead!"

"Firstly, I ain't no thief. Secondly, what the zog would I do with a formula to turn gold inta lead? And finally, ain't it supposed ta be the other way around? Turning lead inta gold?"

"I! Uh… ah… dammit! I knew there woz somefing wrong here! Ya mean I'z been hidin' out here fer absolutely no reason? Well, uvver dan da uvver reason."

"What other reason?"

"I'z stuck."

The Goblin spat out a mouthful of mud as Ranma facefaulted with sufficient force to splash him from head to toe. After about a minute's effort, Ranma finally managed to pull himself from the sucking quagmire to give Squee an incredulous look.

"What do ya mean 'yer stuck'?"

"Exactly dat. Ya fink I'd be hangin' around a stinkin' cold 'n' slimy swamp if'n I hadz a choice? I'z a Fire Kobold- I'z supposed ta be sittin' by a lava pool eatin' Squig 'n' Fungus biriani, not stuck out here in all dis."

He waved a disdainful hand at their surroundings, then promptly squawked as the weight of his gun pulled him off of his "porch" and into the muck. Ranma slogged forward and, with one good hard tug, reefed the Kobold and his weapon back onto "dry" land. As Squee hawked up a lungful of muck, Ranma examined the ramshackle hut to discover that it was, indeed, a ramshackle cart of sorts, wheels firmly bogged down. He turned to the Fire Kobold with a smile on his face.

"Tell ya what- I'll pull this heap outa da muck, if you'll agree to sign on with me an' da boyz. We could use someone with your… talents."

Ranma decided not to ask what those talents were or why he actually wanted this crazy Kobold as part of the Fikskulls… maybe it was just some twisted sense of pity. Squee stared at him incredulously.

"Whut boyz?"

"Da Greenskins about, oh, ten minutes from here. As da Wyvern flies dat is. Why else did ya think I was wandering around here?"

"Cause yoo'z a flippin' loony."

That got a glare from Ranma, which Squee responded to with a sheepish grin. Ignoring the Kobold, Ranma began pacing around the wheeled hut, trying to figure out how to lift it. Eventually, he shook his head; while he more than likely had the raw strength to do the job, the nature of the task mean that this was a job for a team… or perhaps one really, really big guy. He turned back to Squee.

"I can't do this on me own. You wait here, and I'll go get the rest of the boyz; we'll have ya out of here in no time. Just wait."

"Like I'z got a choice?" Squee grumbled to himself, Ranma ignoring him in favour of whistling down the circling Shirotaka and launching himself upwards to meet him in mid-air, scrambling onto the Wyvern's unsaddled back (Ranma had never bothered trying to saddle-break the Wyvern, as he preferred bare-back riding anyway) in a manner that even Squee had to admit was impressive before flying back towards the Fikskulls. It was a good thing that he'd returned; it looked like some of the newcomers were about to start picking fights. He and Shirotaka descended like a diving eagle, "buzzing" the malcontents and sending them scattering in all directions before Ranma finally landed, Wiggit hurrying to his side.

"Well boss? Whut woz it?"

"Just our newest recruit, that's all. But we gotta do something fer him first… Fergee!"

"Yes boss?"

"I need you to come with me… in fact, alla youz! C'mon! We've got plenty more hours till sundown and I fer one don't want to spend any more time in these stinking bug-infested swamps then I hafta! On yer feet and lets get movin'!"

Even the newcomers, who had yet to fully adjust to life amongst the Fikskulls –Ranma had even taken Urbari aside and told him to stay away from the newcomers; it wasn't that he didn't believe he could handle himself, it was just they couldn't afford to have him constantly chopping them in half whenever they picked a fight– didn't argue; Greenskins were quite tolerant of adversity, but being eaten alive by mosquitoes was definitely high on their "not-good" list. Within a few minutes the Fikskulls were mobilised again, trudging through the muck and mire while Ranma led them towards the place where Squee had his hut stuck.

It was barely a matter of minutes to have Fergee clamp down on the hut with one great fist and then haul it out of the mire, after which he'd set it back down on relatively dry land. From somewhere inside the hut, Squee dragged out a great green… thing, kind of like a bloated frog the size of a bullock with clawed, dinosaur-like feet and a massive mouth filled with more teeth than the entire Osmond Family. He then hitched this –with a great deal of swearing on his part, and amusement on the part of the observers– to the front of his cart and set it trundling along as part of the mob.

Squee seemed to get on fairly well with the other Fikskulls… until that night, when he kept practically the entire camp up with the sounds of hammering and clanging and banging, along with the occasional explosion- seemingly for variety. When the bleary Ranma finally staggered up to his hut the following morning, intending to give the Kobold a damn good telling off –as well as to keep the other Fikskulls from murdering the demented little creature– he found the hut had been greatly altered; the wheels had bee studded with metal blades, spikes and armour plating had been hammered haphazardly onto its surface and several crude "mini-cannons" now emerged from various points. A crude rendition of a mortar, apparently constructed from an iron cauldron, was perched on top of the clanking mass and Squee looked up from where he was now painting "Da Deff Kart" on the side of the hut with some weird, iridescent concoction to wave at Ranma, prompting the martial artist to wonder if maybe this had been such a good idea after all…

_Blah, a short chapter with not much happening… I assure you the next chapter will be better, including a chance for Squee and his new "Deff Kart" to shine in combat and I might even find a way to squeeze in Bregar's Bulls. I apologise for mangling your character so much Booyah, but this way just seemed to fit better. I'm sorry. In the chapter after next, Ranma finally makes it to Mordheim- and perhaps I might include Chibi-Reaper's character Forna in it. Ah well, read and review!_


	21. Chapter 21

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** well, that chapter went down much better than I could have anticipated. I even got a few character suggestions, and all of them were quite well created. I especially like yours Gideon020; I don't suppose you could "flesh out" the circus he's in so I can introduce him as part of the next chapter? I intend to have the next few chapters set in Mordheim; makes things easier. One thing I forgot to mention before; a Fire Kobold is a sub-breed of Goblin that's not only immune to fire but can also spit fire as well. Ironic that you suggested a unit of Ogres Booyah; I was contemplating a scenario where the Fikskulls are up against an Ogre Army, but they're more concerned about the fact Ranma's accidentally drunk a fluid that is, in essence, equivalent to drinking six liquefied Mad Cap Mushrooms in one shot. Orc & Gobbo players will understand just what that means. Also, Coranth, you needn't worry; while casualties are inevitable, I have no intention of letting Shirotaka die. Not unless it's in some incredibly heroic manner, like killing a Black Dragon single-handedly or something like that. Erentei; I'm very fond of D&D- I'm even part of a project at the WoTC boards to make a Warhammer Fantasy D20 Campaign Setting. You have ideas; I want to see them.

Chapter 21: Old Troubles Made New

"Fire inna hole!"

WHUMP! KRA-KOOM!

"Direct hit!" Squee shrieked triumphantly, before laughing like The Joker with a lungful of helium until he took too deep a lungful of smoke and started coughing. Da Deff Kart's mortar had one big problem; when it fired, it sent a high-pressure cloud of chemical smoke gushing out of the door and all the various holes and cracks in the walls. While this could have been an advantage, it was just as likely to affect its driver as it was anyone standing next to it, friend or foe. Still, the mortar itself had been pretty damn effective; having just blown about thirty of the muck-encrusted undead that had begun attacking the Fikskulls to pieces. Squee lashed out at the Giant Squig hitched to the front of Da Deff Kart, whipping the frenzied beast into charging forward to smash into a regiment of zombies.

The Greenskins had been slogging through the swamp, the ruined spires and shattered towers that marked what had once been known as one of the greatest cities of the Empire –and which was still known as the City of the Damned– faintly visible on the horizon, the sun beginning to set, when suddenly the marsh had boiled and heaved as sodden zombies and mud-cacked skeletons had begun to emerge from the depths. Tired and surprised as they were, the Fikskulls veterans had faced tougher foes than this, and the new recruits were truly receiving their baptism of fire. Quite literally for those who made the mistake of standing too close to Squee and his uncontrolled barrages of bombs and rockets. But, as Ranma had taken every opportunity since the battle with Captain Gunder's forces to train his army in fighting together more efficiently, things were still going the way of the Greenskins.

Fergee's face was split by a broad smile of pure delight as he leapt around like a child jumping in mud puddles, almost incidentally squashing undead into so much pulp beneath his giant feet. All of the Fikskulls did their best to keep as far away from the enthusiastic Giant as possible; though Fergee was almost unnaturally well balanced for a Giant, he was still a Giant- a creature notorious for its clumsiness, and they were in a slippery, slimy, squelchy swamp. No one wanted to be at ground zero when he finally slipped and fell over.

Urbari and Chirrick fought back to back –and neither of them had any idea how that had happened– against a ravening pack of slavering ghouls, Urbari's runeaxe and Chirrick's Weeping Blade (once the property of Warlord Tribble) hacking and cleaving through the degenerate cannibals. The two actually made quite a good team; Urbari's thick armour and sheer Dwarf toughness allowed him to easily weather the blows from their opponents, and while they were distracted Chirrick could literally cleave through their ranks.

As for Ranma, he was on foot and facing quite the challenge himself; he had taken it upon himself to combat the leader of these creatures, a Vampire. In life the creature had apparently been a human woman, and apparently quite a beautiful one too. In undeath she was a sad remnant of what she had been, a feral stinking beast clad in mouldy, shredded finery and face contorted in an expression of bloodlust. She shrieked in fury and clawed at Ranma's face like an animal, the human resorting to a defensive revision of the Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken to ward her off. Finally, he saw an opening.

As she dove towards him he leapt upwards, twisting around in midair to land facing her back. Before she could react his right hand, fingers extended to render it vaguely blade-like, lashed out and stabbed deep into her back, the magic of the Shockwave Gauntlets reacting with the move to blast a hole directly through the Vampire's chest. For a heartbeat they remained in a frozen tableau, Ranma's hand hovering in the middle of a sizable hole in her chest, before the Vampire's form changed into a statue of solidified dust and ash, which then broke apart in a billowing cloud as a final tortured scream split the air.

The dust had no sooner begun drifting towards the earth than the air where the Vampire had once stood began to ripple and pulse with arcs of black lightning, which then erupted to strike all of the undead upon the field. Their master destroyed, the dark magic that shackled these corpses into a blasphemous parody of life was dispelled, causing the undead to finally collapse apart into their eternal rest. As Urbari and Chirrick double-teamed the last Ghoul, cheers of victory and triumph echoed throughout the mere. Dusting his hands clean, Ranma smiled as he surveyed his forces. Though Mordheim was practically on the horizon, the Fikskulls were really too tired to go any further tonight.

"Set camp!"

A couple of hours later, and the camp was finally beginning to settle down for the night. The evening meal having been eaten, most of the Greenskins were settling down for the night, the sole exception being those unlucky saps on guard duty and the odd Greenskins still engaged in some gambling game or the other. The sole exception was the tiny figure of Wiggit, who determinedly made her way across the camp to the hollow where Ranma had established his sleeping position. As she stepped into the hollow, Ranma looked up from the fire over which he was cooking his meal, leaning against the curled-up form of the sleeping Shirotaka, with Urbari and Chirrick both sharing his fire.

"Heya Wiggit. Pull up a lump and take a load off."

The Night Goblin Shaman did as she was told and sat down, Ranma returning his attention to the… whatever it was he was roasting on the fire, as the Skaven and the Dwarf eyed her curiously. Finally Ranma lifted the cooked thing and took a bite out of it before speaking with his mouthful.

"So what brings ya here?"

"Dere's… somefing we needz ta talk about."

"What is it? Some of the newcomers getting uppity? Someone I needs to put in their place? Is that it?"

"It'z somefing ta do wit da newcomers, yes, but it ain't a fight dey'z lookin' fer. Dere ain't no easy way ta say dis… ya gotta git hitched."

Ranma almost inhaled his meat and promptly started choking on the lungful of burning hot flesh, while Chirrick and Urbari both stared at Wiggit as though she'd just lost her mind. Ranma finally managed to half-spit half-puke up the meat that had nearly killed him and barely paused to finally get a decent lungful of air before on the Night Goblin.

"ARE YA OUT OF YER MIND!"

"Hear me out, hear me out! Dere's a reason fer it!"

"There'd better be!"

Wiggit quickly began to talk, honestly afraid for her life- the expression on Ranma's face was that intimidating. It was sorta traditional that a Big Boss would take at least one mate, so as to produce strong offspring who would –when/if they grew up– be an asset to the tribe. It wasn't required as such, and the Fikskulls themselves were more than understanding if Ranma didn't want to follow that tradition, but it was normal and the newcomers would be more likely to integrate if Ranma started following the tradition. If he didn't, there was a good chance that the newcomers would start to drift away, and if enough of them did that then more would drift away, ala "rats leaving a sinking ship" and soon Ranma would barely have any forces whatsoever. Wiggit trailed off nervously; she didn't like the way Ranma's eye was beginning to twitch. His fingers flexed and clenched tightly, sinews and joints cracking before finally he spoke, practically grating out the words.

"Is that everything?"

"Uh… yeah. Pretty much. Ya don't haff ta do anyfing wit her, just so'z ya know."

"That's enough. Leave me."

Wiggit hesitated, and then Ranma snarled and partially lunged forward, hands clenching into fists that she knew could have smashed her to pulp.

"Now!"

Wiggit promptly took off like a bat out of hell, and Urbari and Chirrick didn't wait around to be given their marching orders; they simply got up and walked away after the black-and-green blur that was Wiggit. Ranma heaved a sigh after they'd gone, suddenly feeling as exhausted as the old him would have been after twenty rounds against Ryoga, Mousse AND Kuno. He knew he'd really overreacted to Wiggit's story, but it just wasn't fair. He was finally free of the yoke of arranged marriages, and now they wanted to shackle him to a girl he didn't want again? What sort of cruel deity was laughing at his misery?

He quickly slapped himself across the face- he was losing the point here. The point was that unless he wanted to see the army he had so painstakingly assembled fall apart around his ears, he was going to have to get a "trophy wife"; a girl who he could parade in public as his mate. He was still grateful that Wiggit had told him that he wouldn't have to actually _"do"_ anything with her- he didn't think he was ready for that yet. He sighed softly; all this worry was pointless, for now he'd just sleep and in the morning, well, that would sort itself out when it happened.

Ranma still wasn't feeling so hot by the time he woke up the next morning, resulting in the Fikskulls being ordered to remain at the established camp and train themselves in battle coordination, while Ranma himself took Shirotaka for a flight. The Fikskulls –other than the three who had been present at Ranma's "debriefing" the night before– were confused, but Ranma was the boss. Soon, the swamps below were ceding their dominance of the landscape to forests as Ranma soared through the sky, the joy of flight erasing his worries and cares as he simply absorbed the sheer pleasure of feeling the air caressing his face and watching the land below pass by uneventfully.

Check that. He pulled Shirotaka to a stop as a new scene met his eyes. Down below, Orcs were fighting against a warherd of Beastmen, whose ranks included a quintet of strange, mutant Trolls and a trio of Minotaurs. Coupled with these bruisers were about eighty Beastmen (with Ungors outnumbering their Gor cousins by about 2 to 1) and two-dozen mutant wolves. As the Orcs numbered maybe thirty in number, plus a further twenty mounted upon the backs of enormous wild boars, things definitely were not looking good for them. These Greenskins weren't part of the Fikskulls, but Ranma hated unfair fights. Not to mention Beastmen in general. A prod to the ribcage was all the signal Shirotaka needed before bellowing a bestial warcry and dropping from the sky like a stone, Ranma eagerly riding it all the way down.

The Wyvern landed on one Minotaur with bone-crushing force, instinctively driving its venomous tail-barb into the creature's spine just to be thorough as its jaws lashed out and closed around the skull of a second victim, Ranma vaulting from his seat in a neck-breaking flying kick at the third. Grinning savagely as the all-too-addictive flush of adrenaline and bloodlust surged through his veins, screaming into his mind like a red-hot tidal wave, Ranma turned in search of fresh victims. A skip, a hop, a rabbit punch and a Gor was down for keeps, its companions just barely turning to face Ranma before his Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken began stripping the flesh from their bones.

Bones breaking beneath his skilfully ungentle caresses, twisting and turning instinctively to let all manner of weapons whistle harmlessly past his armour-clad body, Ranma beamed with the joy of fighting. Forget girls, forget the myriad other things that had been forced on him prior to his salvation- this, _this_ was the true ultimate meaning of life, _this_ was the one sole reason behind everything, _this_ was what made life worth living! He howled with laughter as he slaughtered his way through the ranks of the Beastmen regiment until all that was left was their leader- he was going to enjoy this!

And that was when an axe suddenly came out of nowhere and struck off his target's malformed head, sending the mutant body toppling to the ground in a torrent of gore as Ranma's gaze instinctively followed it. He looked up from the body towards the slayer, though even he had no idea whether he intended to congratulate them on a well-performed kill or pout at the fact they'd stolen his _kill_, but as it turned out what he ended up doing was staring in disbelief at the creature in front of him.

It –no, _she_– was maybe four inches shorter than Ranma. Her skin was green, though a paler green than was normal for an Orc's, and her hair (which was pulled back into a braid that hung down to around her hips, except for two short face-framing bangs) was a deep green, only barely distinguishable as being not-black. Her eyes were also a vibrant green that made Ranma, for some inexplicable reason, think of emeralds, or the first leaves of spring. She was dressed in a short, midriff-baring shirt and short pants, both made from jet-black wolf fur, and leather boots of the typical Orc style. She wielded a double-headed greataxe, the weight of it and the way she held it causing her obviously well-developed muscles to ripple visibly, and two double-headed handaxes were strapped to her back in a cross-pattern.

Finally, and most noticeably of all, other than the muscles, and the green skin, and the tiny tusks that barely jutted past her lower lip, she looked completely like a human girl. She swung her greataxe into a battle-ready posture and inhaled deeply in preparation of a fight, an action that caused her shirt to strain to contain her bosom. (Somewhere between a B-cup and a C-cup, though closer to the C if Ranma was any judge. Damn Happosai and his constant involvement of Ranma in his perversions; the ability to judge a woman's bra size by sight was not a skill any real warrior should have!) Ranma didn't react; he wasn't entirely sure what this creature was, but it was obvious she wasn't on the side of the Beastmen.

"Who're yoo?" She snarled, whereupon Ranma simply grinned back, one of the cheeky but attractive smiles that had helped him unwittingly win the hearts of his fiancées in Nerima. He crossed his arms and legs nonchalantly, and would have learned back casually if there were anything to actually lean on. It was hard to say how much of this was automatic, the instinctive reaction of Ranma's admittedly impressive ego, and how much of it was deliberately calculated, a manner of inducing insecurity and doubt without appearing overtly threatening, but it was a tactic Ranma was unquestionably skilled in the use of. He was silent just long enough, then spoke in an easy tone of voice, effectively throwing his would-be interrogator off-balance.

"I'z Ranma da Weird. Who're you?"

"Forna da Pale" she responded instantly, then clamped a hand over her mouth (almost braining herself with her axe in the process) as she realized what she had just done. She glared at Ranma, who simply let it wash over him; uglier-looking things than her had glared at him before. It was anyone's guess what would have happened next had not a pair of the mutant Trolls suddenly attacked them. Forna struck out with her greataxe, hewing off once spindly mace-tipped limb before gouging deep gashes in a sucker-covered chest.

Ranma dodged a blow from an appendage that was equal parts octopus tentacle and crab pincer before jump-kicking his victim in the throat. As it bent over, gasping for breath, he punched it savagely in the crotch before knocking it over onto its back with a snap-kick. He then leapt into the air and dropped onto its chest like a stone, in mid-air drawing Gitzduffd's Staff from across his back and using the exaggerated point of its butt to impale the Chaos Troll's heart. It voiced an ear-clutching roar of agony that quickly gurgled to a halt, the blow having proved mortal beyond even its regenerative powers. He looked over to where Forna had just decapitated her Chaos Troll, then grinned at her and gave her an appreciative salute. The –whatever she was– looked startled, then shyly smiled back at him. The two then turned and went their separate ways into the battle- there was still plenty of killing to be done.

When the fighting was over, the surviving Orcs –the Mugwhomp Tribe, they called themselves– gathered around to applaud Ranma's fighting skill- and to find out exactly who (and what) he was. When they heard about his position as Big Boss of the Fikskulls tribe, they immediately asked if they too could join his tribe, their former leader having been killed. The Big Boss –and soon to be Warboss– couldn't help a faint smirk that spread across his face. Here was an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

"There's somefing I needz ta talk ta yooz about first…"

_Okay, chapter done. I think this one was a bit weak, plot-wise, but that's not really my call- it's the right of you reviewers to decide whether you like my work or hate it, and I'm happy to admit that so far, and in general, you've liked it. I think you can figure out what Ranma's going to do, and I'll try and do the "aftermath" in the next chapter, but I'm not too confident in my ability to handle it very well- part of the reason I left it out of this chapter. Anyway, I'm very pleased with all the detailed characters people have been giving me; good characters inspire scenario ideas, which makes for more chapters to this story. Keep up the great work peoples! Also, I'm pleased to report that this story has, at only 21 chapters (including this one), surpassed my previous "Great Story" of Sacrifice ½ by over 200 reviews!_


	22. Chapter 22

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** okay, despite her appearance, Forna is actually a pureblooded Warhammer Orc. Well, a mutant pureblooded Warhammer Orc anyway. Her origin will be explained in this chapter. Just one thing- she is NOT a Mary-Sue; I can't stand such things. She does have flaws and Ranma isn't in love with her (at least, not yet), he asked her tribe to give her to him as his mate for two reasons and two reasons alone: they owed him for saving their lives and her appearance means she's actually palatable to him- he's about a few years without any other female contact whatsoever before normal Greenskins are sexually attractive to him. Chibi-Reaper; I think I will use that scenario idea of yours (though I'd appreciate if maybe you could give me a better idea of how it's supposed to work) after I finish the Mordheim arc.

Chapter 22: Getting to Know Each Other

"Yoo arrogant bastard! 'Ow dare you! Stealin' me thunder woz wun fing, but getting me tribe ta give ya me hand- widdout even askin' me? Die!"

Forna bellowed in fury as she swung her greataxe in swift and deadly arcs. A mocking internal voice was saying she should be down on her knees thanking this weird humie, as no real Orc would ever want anything to do with a freak like her, but it simply drove her to greater rage. With the fury of a rabid badger she attacked the source of her troubles, the weird humie who'd dropped into the battle mere minutes before, but to her chagrin (and a tiny grudging amount of respect) not a single blow connected; he seemed to literally flow around the blade of her weapon.

"Oh come on! I admit you have every right to be furious –I was mad as hell myself when my good-for-nothing father pulled the same trick on me– but can't you at least hear me out?"

Finally, Ranma grew sick of dodging and decided to go on the offensive. He ducked beneath the latest swing and then lunged forward in a sweep-kick that knocked the strange she-Orc to the ground. In one swift move he grabbed her axe from her hands and threw it aside, ignorant of how it spun through the air to embed itself in a tree with a dull THUNK, before pinning her to the ground with a long-disused martial arts move. She struggled, naturally, but eventually the futility of her situation made her give up and simply settle for glaring hatefully at Ranma. They remained there, locked together, for several minutes (the other members of the Mugwhomp tribe had been sent to rendezvous with the Fikskulls earlier, Ranma deciding it was best if he had some "alone time" with his new "bride" to explain what was going on) before finally Ranma broke the uneasy silence.

"Now are ya ready ta listen?"

Forna snarled, but finally nodded. Ranma flipped himself neatly off of her to land gracefully to the side, his offered hand ignored as Forna pulled herself to her feet, impressed despite herself at his gracefulness. Once they were both standing, facing each other, Forna grunted loudly and crossed her arms.

"Yoo wanted ta talk? Talk."

"Okay. Firstly, I don't blame you for being mad- you have every right TO be mad, but I wouldn't have done what I did if it wasn't necessary."

"Whutcha mean?"

"Long story short, I need to take a mate or the more recent additions ta the tribe are gonna start deserting. Now I've fought too long and been through way too much to just let all my hard work slip through my fingers, so I had to find a girl that I could, at least in public, pass off as my mate. Irregardless of the fact I don't want to."

"Yoo sayin' I ain't good enuff fer ya?" Forna snapped, strangely offended. Ranma quickly responded; he was all-too-familiar with this line of thinking to let it get any further.

"Now don't go puttin' words in my mouth or I'll slug ya! I put up with that before, an' that's why I didn't want ta find a girl. Y'see, before I came to this world, before I became the leader of the Fikskulls, I was arranged ta marry no less 'en three girls. It was not a pleasant experience- I hoped when I came here I'd be free of arranged marriages fer good. And then I found out I had ta get hitched or me tribe would collapse around me."

He spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness and resignation, accompanying it with a despairing sigh. Forna felt a small degree of sympathy trickle into her heart, but she was still upset.

"So whutcha want wit me? Why ask fer my hand?"

"Believe it or not, sudden inspiration. I was always taught to seize any opportunity and, well, you were a golden one. I mean, you're an Orc, so yer an acceptable choice of mate, yer tribe owed me fer helping save their necks and, most of all, yer a lot easier on the eyes than most Orc girls."

Though her appearance was vastly different to that of a normal Orc girl, Forna did have a few similarities. For a start, she couldn't blush- something for which she was now quite grateful.

"Yoo really mean dat last part?"

"What? Of course I do- heck, even before I actually got used to the idea of green skin being healthy I woulda thought you were good-looking. I mean, I ain't knocking the other girls of the tribe –Troglahai is one of me best fighters– but, well, the idea of takin' on of them as a mate –even though I wasn't actually going ta do anyfing with 'em– just doesn't sit right."

Had she actually been as human as she looked, Forna's face probably would have been bright red. Her anger was also rapidly disappearing- no one had ever referred to her as being anything less than hideous before. This stranger actually thought she was attractive? Apparently ignorant of how off-balance he'd thrown her, Ranma continued.

"I do have to admit, beautiful as you are, yer looks are kinda different. Why do you look different to the other Orc girls anyways?"

Normally the question would have offended Forna, but for some reason she wasn't this time. She simply sighed softly before speaking.

"It'z a long story… I woz born about sixteen years ago, a couple of weeks after da tribe got on the wrong side ov dis crazy humie wizard. He killed lotz ov us, and paralysed da uvvers. Den, when none woz left dat wud dare ta face him, he sought out me mother and cast some weird spell on 'er. Den 'e just wandered off inta da woods. 'E's still around, somewheres, but we stays well clear ov 'im. When mom gave birth later… I came out looking like dis- some sorta freak. Pop couldn't take da shame ov being related to such a freaky child; he wandered off an' got hisself killed. Da tribe woulda killed me at birf if'n mom hadn't killed anyone dat tried it. She woz da best warrior in da tribe when she woz alive, an' she taught me well… dat's all dat's kept me alive."

"What do you mean?"

"I'z da best warrior ov da Mugwhomps, yeah, but ain't none ov 'em like me. I'z an outcast- a freak. Huh, but whut's I telling yoo fer? Yoo ain't gonna understand…"

"On the contrary, I know exactly how you feel…"

Forna blinked as Ranma suddenly slipped off his bracelet and tossed it to her, catching it as Ranma turned and splashed himself with a particularly prominent puddle of water. He then turned around to reveal a noticeably different hair colour and facial structure, but it wasn't until he pulled down his armour and clothing to reveal an impressive set of breasts that the full implication sank in, whereupon Forna's jaw dropped in shock. Ranma then continued speaking in a lighter and undeniably feminine tone of voice.

"I'm a freak too."

Forna was, naturally, confused.

"Whut? How?"

"This is a curse I've had to bear for about a year now, and believe me when I say that I know what you've had to put up with, if only for a limited time."

She turned and used a minor "pulse" of ki to heat the same water pool until it steamed, then splashed herself with the hot water she needed to reverse her curse. Male once more, Ranma walked over to take his form-locking bracelet back from Forna, the mutant Orc all-too-eager to give it back. She might be weird looking, yes indeed, but at least she stayed the same gender all of the time. She watched as Ranma clamped it back around his wrist and then spoke.

"Woz there any reason ya had ta show me dat?"

"I guess… because if we're gonna be stuck together because of something I did, the least I can do is give you the whole truth about what yer getting into. Huh, it's more'n what my pop did fer me, I can tell ya that much."

"Whutcha mean?"

"I guess if you can tell me yer life story, then the least I can do is give ya mine in return. Whutcha want ta know?"

"Well… everfing, I guess."

Ranma blinked at her, then gave a crooked smile and a single short laugh.

"Well, that's quite a tall order. All right then, but don't you think we should maybe start getting back to the others? I fer one don't really want to be stuck out here all alone. C'mon; I'll give you a lift back- we can talk as we fly."

Ranma stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, calling Shirotaka from… where had he flown off to anyway? He performed one of his usual mid-air mountings; an act that Forna secretly had to admit was at least a little impressive. He almost flew off instinctively, but just manage to reign in his impulses to instead order the albino Wyvern to descend to the ground- or at least low enough that Forna could join him on the reptilian creature's long back. He almost stuck out a helpful hand. Almost. He started to offer it, then recalled just how insulting it would have been to him if their positions were reversed, and pulled it back in. Forna didn't comment, instead approaching Shirotaka and leaping at him, finally managing to heave herself up into a sitting posture behind Ranma after a great deal of scrambling. Ranma twisted his head to grin at her.

"Hang on."

The mutant Orc didn't have a chance to ask why before Shirotaka's powerful wings beat once and launched the Wyvern into the sky, hauling its larger-than-normal load into the air without any appreciable effort. Unfortunately for Forna, she was not only caught off guard but also completely unfamiliar with riding. And bareback riding was definitely not for beginners. She slipped off the shiny scales, but Ranma's hand instantly lunged back and seized her own wrist in an seemingly unbreakable grip, easily suspending her in midair despite the fact she was, due to muscle and bone density, probably half-again as heavy as he was. With the aid of a sudden jerk of motion from Shirotaka, he hauled her back onto his steed's back without so much as a grunt of effort.

Her annoyance at the fact she had to hang onto Ranma to stay seated (she was just glad he didn't pay any attention to the fact) persisted, but was quickly subsumed by her enjoyment of the flight; Wyverns were, for all their many faults, very good flyers and normally only the best mountain-dwelling Orc bosses would ever have one. That meant this was a unique experience for Forna, and quite an enjoyable one despite the little "accident" before. She was actually somewhat disappointed when the flight ended.

Despite Ranma's claims that he'd tell her everything about himself, the two of them actually didn't talk until the evening meal- Ranma was too busy organizing and integrating the Mugwhomps into the Fikskulls to be able to chat. Evening meal was quite a change for Forna; rather than being forced first to fight for every single scrap of food she got and then to sit by herself far from the other Orcs, she was included in Ranma's personal eating-group- joining Ranma and his other "lieutenants" around a fire where food and conversation were shared with equal enthusiasm. And as even more of a shock, she was actually included in both- Ranma personally handing her several choice pieces of meat before beginning the comradely chatter and playful boasting that was the normal conversation to accompany Greenskin meals. Forna was as fascinated by the other "lieutenants" as they were by her, and soon found herself feeling an emotion she'd never felt before in her life. Acceptance.

Finally, the conversation turned towards more personal matters, and the group began to swap histories. She learned of Troglahai's first encounter with the runty wolf pup that now formed her loyal steed, and helped managed to persuade Urbari talk of his experiences in the brewery of his former clan- the Dwarf was still reluctant to talk about his life prior to his exile. And perhaps most intriguingly, she learned about the life her new "mate" had lived prior to his arrival in the Fikskull camp. Finally, the camp settled down to sleep, but any concerns that had been plaguing Forna were quickly negated by Ranma's dismissive comments.

"Remember, this is a 'political marriage'. I ain't gonna do anything to you unless you actually want me to. We need to act like we're mates during the day, but you and I both know there's no real emotion here. If you find someone you fall in love with, then I'll support it- just so long as you don't make it public. Neither of us needs that sort of aggravation. Good night."

With that, Ranma had curled up against the sleeping Shirotaka and gone to sleep. Forna had simply stared at him in shock, with a little contempt curling its way into her heart- her, fall in love with someone? Yeah right! But still, she couldn't help but appreciate the gesture. She still had no idea why she chose a spot opposite Ranma from the fireplace as her sleeping spot though.

_I'll admit it, this one was bleagh. Ah well, only way I'm gonna get better is if I write more. Anyway, quick question; do you want me to do a "flashback" to Nerima for the next chapter, or have Ranma and a small group of his followers (specify who) enter Mordheim? If you want the Nerima chapter, then I wouldn't mind your opinions on what's happened there- remember that time there is passing at roughly a quarter of the rate it's passing for Ranma. That means it's been about three weeks since Ranma disappeared. I might wait a little while before writing the next chapter anyway; I have a copy of the new Orcs & Goblins army book pre-ordered and it should be mail-delivered to me soon. Erentei; I can wait to see the "detailed" versions of your creations, but I wouldn't mind a quick overview. In fact- do you have any experience with D&D? The 3.5 version specifically? You see, I'm part of a project (currently number about two-three members) at the Wizards of the Coast forum working to make a D20 campaign setting for Warhammer Fantasy and, well, we need rulesmiths. Would you be interested in joining us? In fact, would any of you readers familiar with both Warhammer and D&D be interested? Dobe-Teme; in Warhammer, older Vampires are actually resistant to sunlight (I think) and I know they can actually summon storm clouds/darkness to block out sunlight. Gree; nice stats for Kragar, though if he's a Chaos Lord of Tzeentch (the only way he could afford a Great Fang and a Crown of Everlasting Conquest- either one of those would completely use up the magic items points for a Hero-level character) he'd be a Level 4 Wizard; Heroes of Tzeentch are automatically Level 2, Lords are Level 4._


	23. Chapter 23

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** Sorry for the delay getting this up; bit of an off day. Well, the Nerima flashback was naysayed, so it's into the City of the Damned for Ranma & co. By the way, anyone who's interested in the Warhammer D20 project I mentioned in the last chapter, the address is: http/ boards1. wizards. com/showthread. php?t698245 -just remove the spaces and you're there. Thanks for that prompt reply Chibi-Reaper, but I was actually asking for suggestions on what sort of chaos might happen in Nerima (in the post prior, you simply had that Ranma has to chase down Happosai, find the artefact and get back the portal before the 72 hours were up and it closed forever). Also, for anyone who's interested in "And Hell Followed With Him", the Ranma-as-Chaos-Champion story intended as the "spiritual sequel" to this story, I've created a topic about it in my Warhammer ½ forum.

Chapter 23: Introduction to the City of the Damned

Ranma liked to sleep. Ask anyone who knew him before the Fikskulls, and they would tell you that sleeping was one of Ranma's favourite things to do. Prior to joining the Fikskulls though, he'd always been woken up –whether he wanted it or not– at the crack of dawn to spar. With this in mind, Ranma's reaction to Urbari suddenly storming into Ranma's sleeping spot, swearing in Khazalid and armour and weapon clanging together and then throwing himself down beside Ranma makes a lot more sense. This fact was rather lost on the unfortunate Dwarf, who currently found himself being forced face-first into the muck and his arm being twisted behind as shoulder as though Ranma were about to pull it from his socket. Forna herself shot upwards, frantically looking in all directions while clutching her greataxe as Urbari's gravely voice rang out.

"What the hells do you think you're doing manling? Get off of me!"

The angry Dwarf's voice finally penetrated Ranma's sleep-numbed mind and he released Urbari, the Dwarf hauling himself off the ground and rubbing his sore wrist before glaring at the human.

"And what was all that for?"

"What the zog possessed you to walk into my camp making such a racket? What's dropped the centipede down your loincloth?"

"I just had to get away from that lot- it's disgusting! Sickening! Indecent!"

"Whoa, slow down there Dwarf, I ain't following ya. What's disgusting?"

"Just you go ask Troglahai."

Confused as hell but positive that he wasn't likely to get a straight answer from the Dwarf, Ranma turned and walked out of his camp towards Troglahai's camp. Forna knuckled one green eye with an equally green fist, a thoughtful expression on her face. Now what could have gotten the Dwarf so upset? A sneaking suspicion began to emerge…

"Gyaaagh!"

…And that pretty much confirmed it as Ranma returned to the camp in a sort of high-speed stumble, a glazed, horrified look upon his face. Urbari snorted, a tinge of amusement within the disdain, while Forna quickly stood up and helped Ranma take a seat, throwing a distinctly unamused glare at the Dwarf. It took several minutes before Ranma finally, with a shudder, seemed to come back to normal, glaring savagely at Urbari.

"A warning wouldn't have killed you."

"You knew perfectly well what was going on."

"I did zoggin' not! How the zoggin' hell could I have been prepared for… _that_."

He shivered again. Ranma had experienced many, many horrible things in his life, from Akane's so-called cooking to being kissed by another guy to watching the entire mob of Bork's Bashers being blown into mush by a Helblaster Volley Gun. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have ever prepared him for the horror of witnessing a Goblin Wolf Rider orgy. He shuddered yet again, Forna looking at him sympathetically while Urbari gave him a blank stare.

"You mean to tell me you didn't know this was going to happen?"

"How the zog would I know that Troglahai, her Marauders AND their wolves would suddenly choose today to have an orgy!"

"It isn't just her- most of the Greenskins are pairing off all throughout the camp. But surely you were expecting that?"

"How and why would I?"

"…Did Wiggit actually tell you why you had to take a mate to keep the other Greenskins from deserting?"

Ranma shook his head, and Urbari sighed softly. Forna –who was keeping well out of this conversation– simply blinked in confusion; she had no idea what was going on.

"Well lad, it's like this. As Warboss-"

"You mean Big Boss."

"-Nah, the tribe's large enough now that they've officially dubbed you a Warboss. Anyway, as Warboss, you get first pickings at everything, right? Food, loot, prime sleeping spots?"

"Well… yeah, pretty much."

"And Orcs value strength above all else, right?"

"Pretty much…"

"Well, the long and short of it is that, until the Boss chooses a mate, no other Orc in the tribe can choose one."

"What? How the hell does that work?"

"Orcs of both genders want the strongest mate they can get, right? That means that the females will hold out because they're hoping that the Boss will choose them, while for males taking a female before the Boss does is a direct challenge to the Boss's authority. Now that you have officially claimed Forna here as your bride, the other Greenskins are officially allowed to start choosing their own mates. Given how long it's taken you to choose one, I rather doubt that this lot will be going anywhere today."

"Ya got dat right." Forna mumbled, quickly looking away and pretending she hadn't spoken when Ranma turned towards her. But Ranma himself nodded in agreement- besides, the last thing he wanted to do was try and break up dozens of horny Greenskins. He doubted even he could manage a feat like that. Now recovered –somewhat– from his traumatic experience, he leaned in closer to Urbari.

"That's alright, because there's some things I wanted to talk to you about."

"What's that?"

"It's about our current destination… the map I have says that we're approaching a city- some place called 'Mordheim'. Can you tell me anything about it?"

"Mordheim? The City of the Damned? You can't be serious! You simply cannot be actually thinking about going to that cursed place!"

"Okay, I'm confused now- what's wrong? It's just a city."

"Just a city? Dat place is cursed!" Forna replied, her eyes wide with shock. Urbari nodded in agreement before he caught himself, scowled, and elaborated.

"Y'see manling, about five hundred years ago, Mordheim was considered one of the finest cities in the Empire, a jewel of a place. Then, one day, a massive meteorite of pure Warpstone struck the city, smashing it into ruins and unleashing corruptive waves of chaos throughout its lands. But after the catastrophe, men began flocking back to it."

"Why?"

"For shards of the meteorite. Somehow, humans discovered a formula that could transform base metal into gold- and Warpstone was the key to the formula. Desperate bands of fortune hunters and adventurers began to war within the ruined streets, for this was a time of great political upheaval amongst the Empire. But they were not alone in this war, oh no. You see, some sort of dark god or monstrous spirit had been unleashed from within the meteorite, a fell entity of Chaos that the deranged men who flocked to worship it called 'The Shadowlord'. Thanks to this creature, the already brutal battles became evermore frequent and bloody, and the dangerous landscape became even more vile and twisted. Mordheim was –and still is– a place where ever-thirsty death stalks the dark corners and shattered streets. Other races then men also became involved, each for their own reasons. Finally, the manling Emperor Magnus the Pious led an army against Mordheim, seeking to burn the cursed ruins to the ground."

Ranma looked at Urbari, then looked at the shadowy images of ruins on the distance before looking back towards the Dwarf.

"I take it that they didn't succeed?"

"In a way, yes, and in a way, no. The fighting was incredible; not only did Magnus's army have to battle those warbands that refused to abandon Mordheim's vast stockpiles of treasure –not to mention the anarchic freedom that had become a way of life for them– they also had to fight the city itself."

"What do you mean? I mean, yeah, you said that the place was dangerous…"

"Dangerous enough in normal times, but it's said that the Shadowlord was –and maybe still is– bound to the very soul of Mordheim; an omnipresent abomination, aware of everything that transpires within Mordheim and capable of controlling the city itself like its own body. Mordheim is like unto a living thing manling, and like any living thing that'd been provoked it defended itself. It's said that men who wandered into shadows disappeared without so much as a scream, that masses of rubble coalesced into humanoid forms and attacked alongside animated trees and statuary, that buildings that should have been whole and sound erupted into flames or collapsed into rubble when Magnus's men went inside and that the very earth below ripped open into gaping maws to devour its enemies. Finally, Magnus ordered the city put to the torch. They say that the city screamed in rage and agony as the flames engulfed it, and that it took three whole days before the very last building collapsed into nothingness. Unwilling to lose any more men, Magnus decreed the place forbidden, and he and his army marched away, leaving behind nothing but ashes."

"But…"

"But the ruined city's still there? Is that what you were going to say? And that's part of the reason the place is known as the City of the Damned. After Magnus died, the city began to grow back. No one knows how, no one knows why and no one is willing to find out. In the last few decades, Mordheim has restored itself to its post-impact state, and once more people have returned to stalk its streets in search of Warpstone, treasure and death. Some considers Mordheim to be the ultimate source of adventure, but I tell you this manling; only three types of people dare to enter that cursed place. The desperate. The damned. And the demented."

"Sounds like a home-away-from-home to me." Ranma replied, smirking as Urbari and Forna's jaws both dropped. He stretched backwards, working the kinks out of his back and neck before elaborating.

"I love wandering around in the woods, really I do, but I could use a little time back in civilisation. And as Mordheim is both the closest source of civilisation-"

"Yoo honestly call dat civilisation?"

"-and the only sort of place where I wouldn't stick out, then that's where we're going. Besides- loot and combat in equal quantities? What more could anyone want?" Ranma finished smoothly, ignoring Forna's interruption.

"You are a strange, strange manling." Urbari said, in the tone of someone who's just experienced a profound revelation or a divine epiphany.

"This is news to you… how?" Ranma asked innocently, prompting Forna to slap a fist over her mouth to keep from laughing. Urbari shook his head softly as Ranma continued, ignoring the pair of them.

"But if neither of you two want to come, then I guess I'll go it alone."

"Uh-uh! Ain't no zoggin' way I'z lettin' yoo go inta dat place alone!"

Both the human and the Dwarf stared at the Orc mutant, who blushed (or would have if it were physically possible) and quickly stammered out her explanation.

"Even if it's in name alone, I'z still yer mate, and whut sorta mate wud I be if'n I just let ya wander off inta danger?"

Ranma blinked once and then, for a few heartbeats, a soft smile came onto his face, an expression very few had ever seen before.

"I appreciate that Forna. And what about you Urbari?"

The Dwarf was silent for a second, fingered the blade of his axe, then shook his head softly before grunting a reply.

"I couldn't really let you go into a place like that alone- my axe is yours."

"I will come-help too."

All three started as Chirrick's voice suddenly sounded behind them, Ranma spinning around to confront the smirking Skaven.

"Just how long have you been there?"

"Some time- not sure. But I can help you- I was reared in Mordheim before falling into the paws of Clan Rotstump. What better guide than a native? Especially one who works for free?"

"That makes sense." Urbari remarked, prompting a snort from Forna- Dwarfs were known, even amongst Orcs, as being tight-fisted. Ranma simply nodded.

"Okay then. Hmm… I think it's best if only a small group goes. We don't need the city thinking we're coming to attack it after all. Let's see… there's four of us… should we bring anyone else?"

KRAKOOM

Forna, Urbari and Chirrick all went diving for a cover at the sudden explosion, while Ranma remained upright and nonplussed. As they slowly got off the ground, Ranma turned in the direction of the explosion.

"Squee…"

Khaardun the Gloried, the Shadowlord, the Spirit of Mordheim, Lord of the City of the Damned, stirred restlessly in his twilight slumber, his dreams filled as always with dark spectres of revenge and wraithlike memories of hatred. It had been like this for over five hundred years, ever since Be'lakor –a thousand times a thousand curses upon his head!– had stolen his body and warped him into the monstrous Daemonic entity now known as the Shadowlord. An ordinary mortal would have been utterly destroyed by such an event, but Khaardun the Gloried was to have been the Everchosen of Chaos –the Great Uniter for his generation– and a spirit such as his could not be crushed. Instead, he had been forced into a tiny corner of his own mind, unable to do anything but watch as Be'lakor tried to steal his destiny, and then destroyed their shared physical form in a hate-fuelled frenzy when he failed. While Be'lakor now walked the earth, free after countless eons of imprisonment, the spirit of Khaardun was still trapped in the City of the Damned.

Bound irrevocably, he spent most of his time asleep, waking only on occasion to bask in the worship of his faithful Brethren of the Shadows -the Cult of the Possessed- or to gain amusement by watching the mortal denizens of Mordheim struggle and die at his whims. But today, there was a strangeness in the air- or rather, a strangeness in the air that had nothing to do with him. He could feel something approaching, something that seemed to be whispering unspecified promises into his mind. As yet, this disturbance was not yet great enough to stir him fully from his slumber. But how long that would remain the state of affairs was anyone's guess…

_Okay, a very dialogue-heavy chapter this time, but I promise you that the next chapter will be better and much more true to Mordheim- full of bloodshed, weirdness and rains of fish! But then again, I might wait until my new Orcs & Goblins book gets here to write it- see if there're any new Greenskin trinkets that I might like to have Ranma & Co pick up on their daytrip to the City of the Damned._


	24. Chapter 24

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** well, your patience has finally paid off; here it is, chapter 24 of Waaagh Ranma! I finally accepted that until this story is done, none of you are going to pay any attention whatsoever to AHFWH, so I'm going to be sticking to this story until it's done. It may take me a while to get back to my original chapter per day output, but keep the reviews flowing the way you used to and I'll be ready soon enough. After the Mordheim arc is done, I was thinking of having Ranma & co head to the shore (still passing through Sylvania, naturally!) and go for a cruise… say, to Albion? Gideon020; I'm sorry for not making your "Dark Carnival" the focus of this chapter, but there's just one thing I need from you; you say Razgriz the Trusted has a message from Tzeentch to deliver to Ranma- could you give me an idea (or more than one) on what the subject of that message might actually be? Actually, an idea or two on what sort of storyline I could use them in would also be appreciated. Chibi-Reaper: I repeat my request from the Author's Notes of the previous chapter.

Also, I've had an author (I can't remember who though) approach me once before about rating myself at his fanfiction website (I think it was back when I was doing Sacrifice ½). And you all know how lousy my sense of self-esteem is. So out of curiosity, I'm asking you; how would you rate me as an author, as well as my various stories in general and this story in particular?

Chapter 24: Welcome to Mordheim; Check Your Weapons at the Gate

"So this is the infamous City of the Damned, eh? It doesn't look so bad to me."

"So many have said… and no one ever found their remains." Muttered Urbari. Ranma and the others simply ignored him as they walked through the shattered, ruined gates leading into Mordheim. The motley band of human, mutant Orc, Dwarf, Skaven and Fire Kobold had left the rest of the army behind (they'd moved into the surrounding forest to establish their camp whilst Ranma and company explored Mordheim) several hours ago and had just finished making their way through the shantytown erected outside Mordheim's walls to reach the actual City of the Damned. For all their glib attitude, all kept a cautious eye on their surroundings as they made their way into the city; Chirrick especially knew just how dangerous and unpredictable Mordheim could be.

Khaardun laughed in exultation; finally, the source of that strange feeling had entered Mordheim and made itself vulnerable to him- and it was nothing less than the most powerful mortal body he had seen since, well, himself. He began to gather his strength, plans forming in his mind to lure this strange youth to the center of the Pit; the one place in all of Mordheim where the worlds of flesh and spirit were interwoven, and where he could usurp this powerful body for himself. As the thought coalesced though, he felt a sudden ethereal shiver run down his "spine", and quickly took a closer, more thorough look at the boy. Celestial energy! The youth was divinely marked! But by which powers? A closer examination revealed the distinctive markings of Gork and Mork, the squabbling brother-powers of the Greenskin race. Powerful, but not as powerful as Chaos. But as he resumed his plotting, he noticed something else; a single slender thread of rainbow-hued light, which Khaardun curiously (and increasingly nervously) followed to reach…

"Tzeentch!" Khaardun howled, his rage and despair so powerful that the very earth of Mordheim shivered in accompaniment. Trifling with the Orc gods was one thing, but Khaardun was not foolish enough to risk the wrath of the Chaos Gods- especially not of Tzeentch, for it had been he who had cursed Be'lakor in the dawn of time for his arrogance. Khaardun would not touch the mortal so long as Tzeentch was watching over him, but his fury and despair at having a chance for freedom snatched from him caused him to instinctively whip the spirit of Mordheim into a turmoil, producing weirdness and bizarreness throughout the real City of the Damned. As Ranma and co quickly found out.

Splat

"What da zog woz dat?" yelped Squee, twisting his head frantically in all directions to find the source of the noise. Ranma opened his mouth to answer, but cut himself off as he spotted something silvery falling from the sky towards him. He quickly stepped backwards to let it hit the ground, where it revealed itself to be a small, silvery, still-living fish, flopping around frantically on the broken tiles. Ranma stared at it in disbelief as several more fishes fell from the steadily darkening sky. Chirrick looked up at the sky uneasily.

"We best find-seek shelter, quick-quick!"

"What? Come on, don't tell me yer scared of a little falling fish?"

"It's not the little falling fish I scared of…"

SPLATCH

"…It's the big falling fish." Chirrick finished, while Ranma shook off the mild concussion of having a 300-pound tuna land on his head. He glared at Chirrick, but before he could say anything the sky was completely enveloped in stormclouds and, with a clap of thunder, the former trickle turned into a downpour, fish pelting from the sky to pound the mortals below and sending them running for shelter. Forna barely dodged aside as a swordfish landed nose-first at the point where she'd been standing, whilst Urbari suddenly found himself the proud owner of a live and very wriggly octopus, which promptly enveloped the stunned Dwarf in its sticky tentacles. As he tried to wrestle himself free, Squee stopped to laugh at him, a rather foolish mistake that resulted in the Fire Kobold running around with a dozen angry lobsters clamped onto various portions of his body.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the rain of fish stopped. Ranma blinked in confusion before walking over to help Urbari deal with his little problem and then to laugh at the frantic Squee. Finally he relented to helping the crazed Greenskin alchemist, prying the pernicious crustaceans from their impromptu host and tossing them to the ground, whereupon Squee promptly roasted them alive by spitting fireballs. Chirrick idly picked up one roasted lobster and casually started crunching away on it, shell and all, before his ears suddenly perked up and began rotating, his head slowly following as he swallowed his mouthful of food and then spoke.

"Do you hear that?"

"It sounds like screaming." Replied Urbari, drawing his runeaxe free.

"An' it'z gettin' closer…" murmured Forna, unslinging her greataxe. Ranma nodded, he could hear it too now, and slipped into a fighting stance as Chirrick and Squee both readied themselves for battle. And that was when the tornado-force wind literally screamed towards them from the street behind them. The wind echoed with a sound like billions screaming in pain and terror, a sound so loud and high-pitched it was practically a physical assault. The quintet instinctively clapped their hands over their ears, a move that spelled disaster when coupled with the sheer force of this screaming wind as it literally blew them away; it was so strong it physically picked them up and carried them deeper into the city! After several minutes of being carried along (and coincidently smashed into each other, houses, the road, statues and other such things), the wind "split" into several winds, carrying all five of them away from each other.

The wind seemed to "play" with Ranma, tumbling head over heels before finally growing bored and dissipating, allowing Ranma to make a high-speed head-first landing into a rather solid semi-melted building. Ranma prised his head from the resultant crater and shook his head to clear his senses. For some reason, the experience of the crash-landing had produced a strange feeling of déjà vu. Hearing the sound of stone grating against stone, he quickly backed away from the building he'd crashed into- he'd been buried beneath a collapsed building before and wasn't in any particular hurry to repeat the experience. Strangely though, apart from the large crater where his head had embedded itself (primarily courtesy of the horns on his helmet), the building looked fine. And that was when he felt the presence of someone standing behind him. He whirled to face whoever it was, and his jaw promptly dropped in shock. Standing there before him was a marble statue of nothing less than an angelic (literally- wings and all) version of Akane, wearing a beatific smile and –as Ranma noticed too late, thanks to the shock– toting a very large stone mallet, which scythed through the air whilst accompanied by a very familiar cry of "Ranma no baka!"

"Oof! Zoggin'… where'm I?" Forna growled, pushing herself off the narrow lump of stone she had landed gut-first upon. Said stone turned out to be a gravestone; she was in the middle of a rather battered and ancient looking graveyard, a single long-dead tree in the corner. She took one good look around and shook her head.

"I don't need ta be a genius ta know dat dis ain't no place fer me ta hang around. I'z outta here!"

She instantly began striding out of the graveyard, doing so in a manner that would have been quite dramatic and impressive were it not for the fact she suddenly fell flat on her face. She instantly squirmed so that she could see what had tripped her, discovering it to be a skeletal hand which had burst from the gravesoil and clutched her ankle in its unyielding grip. Lunging to try and pry it loose prompted more of the limbs to burst from the soil in an attempt to seize her and –more than likely– drag her underground. They snatched at her clothes and yanked on her hair and clawed at her limbs, not inflicting any damage that could be considered dangerous, but annoying the hell out of the writhing mutant Orc. When one hand burst up from the soil between her legs and clutched at the front of her shorts' waistband, enough was enough.

With a roar of fury she surged to her feet, wrestling free of the clutching bones and uncaring that in the process her clothes tore apart. Once she was upright, she leapt from the writhing patch of soil and drew her greataxe, ready to strike at the skeletons as they emerged. Instead, the waving hands simply ripped her clothing into worthless shreds before descending back into the dirt. Forna's jaw dropped in disbelief –not only was she now naked, those were her favourite clothes!– and she hurled herself back onto the patch of soil and began digging frantically, bellowing obscenities as she did so. She only stopped when she heard someone whistle from behind her, followed by an unknown voice.

"Now ain't that a sight to see!"

She was on her feet, whirled around and with her greataxe at the ready in a heartbeat. Standing behind her, surrounded by several zombies –all rather well preserved, all women and all naked she noticed idly– was a diminutive (barely the height of Squee) and very elderly-looking human man, his clothes and his company clearly marking him as a Necromancer. He looked as though he had been about to say something more, but the sight of Forna's cleavage caused his eyes to bulge, his jaw to drop and drool to gush from his mouth. He snapped back to his senses in an instant and suddenly leapt at the disconcerted Orc, his tiny legs propelling him all the way from where he'd been standing to grapple Forna's breasts, the she-Orc shrieking in shock, fury and disgust as the old man howled his own battlecry.

"SWEETO!"

"Stupid zoggin' hunk 'a' stone… I fixed her…" Ranma scowled and muttered to himself as he stalked through the streets of Mordheim, a stone mallet clutched almost absent-mindedly in his hand and a fine coating of marble dust trailing behind him. He stopped as something suddenly caught his ears.

"Ranma! Chirrick! Forna! Squee! Someone! Get me down from here!"

Ranma looked up in disbelief; there, perched at the very pinnacle of a surprisingly intact-looking tower, was Urbari, clutching for dear life to a weathercock. Ranma dropped the mallet and well-trained legs propelled him upwards, until after no less than three leaps Ranma was calmly standing beside the almost-panic-stricken Dwarf.

"How the zog did ya get up here?"

"That blasted wind carried me, how do you think I got up here? Just get me down!"

"Alright, alright, don't getcha chainmail in a knot" soothed Ranma, trying to pluck Urbari from the weathercock. When that failed, Ranma simply wrenched Dwarf and roof ornament both from their position and leapt back towards the ground, landing with ease before placing Urbari upon the ground. Urbari grunted and finally prised his grip free of the weathercock. And that was when Chirrick suddenly scuttled from the shadows, an expression of triumph upon his features.

"So here you are. I look-seek you sometime now, but look-see what I find! Warpstone!"

Chirrick held up a pawful of slivers of some blackish-green faintly luminescent rock. Ranma and Urbari both were ready to say something, only to be cut off as a whistling noise came from overhead. All three took several steps backwards as something fell from the sky and landed on the broken pavement with a loud "splat". It pushed itself uneasily to its feet to reveal itself to be a tottering, drunkenly giggling Squee, a toothy grin stretching from ear to ear.

"And where'd you come from?"

"Squee not know- hic! Squee land in barrel of funny-tasting stuff, in damp, smelly place. It dark, so Squee make fire… BOOM!" He shouted this last part, startling his companions, then giggled loudly before fainting. Urbari took a cautious step forward and sniffed.

"He's drunk- must have landed in some wrecked brewery or something. What a waste of good beer."

"Ah, he'll sober up soon enough. Now where's Forna?"

"I'z here." Came the sullen answer from behind Ranma. He spun on his heel to face the newly returned mutant, but the sight of Forna wearing nothing but a sour look and a sheen of sweat caused him to faint instantly, an action that confused Forna and Chirrick and prompted a disdainful snort for Urbari.

"He can fight impossible odds and laugh, but a naked wench makes him faint?"

Forna promptly walloped him soundly over the head with the blunt end of her greataxe for calling her a wench.

_(cringes) I know, not much of a chapter but I am somewhat rusty; with your reviews to inspire me (and answers from Gideon020, who's also been most helpful to me in AHFWH) the next chapter will be up soon and will hopefully see a rapid return to the quality of the previous chapters._


	25. Chapter 25

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** Ahh… I'd forgotten just how good that felt; each chapter of this story gets more reviews per hour than AHFWH gets per week. I can only hope that, when I finally finish this and return to AHFWH, you'll start to read and review that with the same eagerness you do this. On a different topic, I was thinking of resurrecting Me and My Infernal Shadow; does anyone think this I should bother? Also, Booyah; the character is interesting, but I'm not a hundred percent sure that he works. I'll probably do one more chapter set in Mordheim after the next chapter before they resume heading southwards, so it's a 50/50 chance he'll turn up in the next chapter.

Chapter 25: Come to the Carnival

It was now a week since Ranma and co and come to Mordheim, and they were finally beginning to get the hang of things here. After Ranma had finally come to –Forna still had no idea why he'd reacted to the sight of her naked like that– the first thing he'd done was swear to help her find that disgusting old human. Well, all right, it was the second thing he did; the first thing was to ask her to put some clothes on. Though they'd pursued the disgusting wizard diligently, they'd sort of forgotten about him after running into trio of Chaos Spawn. By the time they'd finally gotten the malformed lumps of flesh and gristle to give up and stop moving (you'd think something with all six heads cut off, its ribcage hacked open, its spine crushed and all thirteen legs broken would admit defeat, wouldn't you?), they'd forgotten all about the old letch.

The rest of the week had been spent "seeing the sights" (not that was really that much to see- unless you count vampire crypts, Chaos altars, monster-housing giant holes and the hiding places of cannibalistic psychopathic serial killers as tourist attractions. And Ranma didn't.), hunting for Warpstone shards (Chirrick was now toting a bag the size of Ranma's fist filled with the stuff) and fighting the monsters and other warbands that roamed the street. Speaking of which…

"Foul green-skinned harlot! In the name of Sigmar, I will cleanse your licentious soul and impure flesh with righteous fury and holy flames!"

Forna's reply was, naturally, unprintable, extremely detailed, thoroughly unpleasant and physically impossible. And that's just the physical reply. Not far away, Ranma was busy wrestling with a pair of Sigmarite Warhounds. This may not sound so hard, but these weren't your everyday street mongrels, oh no, these dogs had been bred by Sigmar's Witch Hunters to possess fighting skills to match their tracking skills. Though the average Witch Hunter would swear to his friends (if he had any) that Warhounds were perfectly playful, friendly, even lovable creatures- once you got past their ability to crush a man's skull or remove an entire limb in a single bite. These specimens had clearly eaten plenty of food since they'd gotten to Mordheim; each probably weighed half-again as much as Ranma did, meaning that it was hard for even someone with his strength to hold back those drool-gushing fang-laden jaws.

Finally, with a grunt of exertion, Ranma smashed his skull –toughened to a degree that put iron to shame as a result of his time in Nerima– against the Warhound's, knocking the dumb beast unconscious instantly. Its own muscles gone slack, he lifted it off the ground and threw it like a furry boulder at the other Warhound, knocking it unconscious as well. He took a second to wring the drool from his pigtail and see how the others were doing. Having finally finished chopping the Witch Hunter Captain into mincemeat, Forna was now turning her gory greataxe upon the three Flagellants, whose predictions of a grisly and painful death had just come true- for them. The Zealots were fleeing for their lives from Squee's bombardment of fireballs and explosives, those who failed to do so ending up as burnt lumps of meat or splattered across the surroundings.

Chirrick feinted a strike at the apprentice Witch Hunter, and then lunged forward in a blow that gutted the scar-faced man like a fish. Urbari was duelling with the Warrior-Priest- and getting very angry with the way the portly hammer-wielder persisted in chanting exorcising incantations in an attempt to "banish the Daemon in Dwarf shape". Seeing that the battle looked like it might take a while, and being bored of this fight, Ranma hurled Gitzduffd's Staff through the air like a spear to impale the Warrior-Priest through the head. Urbari looked at him with a sour look, angry that Ranma had interfered in his battle, but the Warboss simply ignored him and concentrated on prying his staff loose, grimacing at the brains now caked on its sharp end.

"Well, now what do we do? We've got quite the reputation built already, so I doubt we'll be seeing any more challengers like this for a while."

"Beats me… I never though I'd say this, but I'm actually kinda bored with fighting. Is there anything else ta do around here?" Ranma asked, looking at his comrades.

"Gamble?" shrugged Forna as she pawed through the clothing of the Flagellants in search of loot. Finding nothing worth taking, she moved onto the dead Zealots.

"Drink?" suggested Squee, an eager gleam in the Fire Kobold's maniacal eyes.

"NO!" everyone shouted simultaneously; they'd all learned –all too well– that any combination of Squee and alcohol meant fire and/or explosions, sooner or later. Squee voiced a sulky "humph!" and kicked a pebble sullenly. Seeing that Forna was occupied with the Zealots, Urbari quickly took to rifling through the Warrior-Priest's clothing; looting the dead was one of the "bad habits" he'd already picked up from his companions. Chirrick was also looting his kill, as well as simultaneously devouring its entrails. Then he found something in a pocket, the sight of which caused him to unconsciously inhale a length of intestine and almost choke on it. He bit off as much as he could hold and swallowed it, gulping several times to ensure the whole mass went down completely before scurrying over to Ranma, who was idly poking the remains of the Witch Hunter Captain.

"Most mighty of masters? Look at this- what is it?"

He passed it over to Ranma, who looked at it curiously. It was a brightly decorated and rather elaborate flyer, decorated with all manner of fantastic imagery. Across the top, "Lord Ethelbert's Travelling Troupe of the Amazing and the Fantastic!" was scrawled in ornate cursive writing, whilst at the bottom was listed such things as "Ragnar, the Strongest Man in the World!", "The Amazing Sorcerer's Duel!", "The Battle Maw!" and "The House of a Thousand Delights!". There was a strip torn from the bottom, and so there were no details on where this carnival was located or even when it was open. Ranma nodded to himself before speaking.

"It'z some sort of flyer… looks like some kinda circus… maybe even a fair. I haven't been to one of those in, well, ever. Anyone interested?"

He passed the flyer around the group, watching as each of his companions scanned it with an interested look. Well, except for Urbari, but Ranma knew by now that Urbari rarely showed what he was feeling unless he was feeling something negative. He just figured it was the way Dwarfs were. Urbari perused the flyer again, and then a second time, before looking up (as though he really had a choice) to meet Ranma's eyes.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to go there… might be a nice change from the normal business. But how are you going to find it? Not to mention how dangerous it is to just wander blindly into something like this in Mordheim…"

"You really think I'm that thick? I'm heading back to Shantytown to see if anyone knows anything this place. Which means… gimme the Warpstone Chirrick."

"No! Not my Warpstone! Anything but that!" Squealed the Skaven, hugging the bag of mutagenic ore chips to his chest and curling over it, much to the amusement of Forna, Squee and even Urbari and to the annoyance of Ranma. Why was the damn rat-man so obsessed with the stupid chunks of rock? Warpstone was dangerous! Well, to non-Skaven anyway. Ranma was really hoping that he wouldn't have to repeat the last time he'd needed to separate the obsessive Skaven from the satchel. Silently and stealthily as he could, he began moving towards Chirrick, readying to spring forward and wrestle the bag from the snapping, squealing, biting, clawing dervish that the Skaven became when his Warpstone was threatened. Closer and closer he got, Chirrick eying him warily, waiting to see who would make the first make- Ranma to lunge or Chirrick to flee.

When Forna suddenly clubbed Chirrick into unconsciousness with a single blow from the blunt end of her greataxe. Ranma blinked, temporarily thrown off balance by the sudden change in the predicted turn of events, whilst Forna prised the bag of Warpstone shards from Chirrick's claws (even in unconsciousness he held a vice-like grip) and tossed it to Ranma. Catching it neatly, Ranma couldn't help but direct a confused glance first at the bag, then at Forna. He opened his mouth to say something, but Forna beat him to the punch.

"Fun as it iz ta see da two ov ya wrestlin', we ain't got da time fer it. Now ain't ya goin' someplace?"

Ranma nodded, tucked the bag into a ki pocket –which served the dual purposes of both hiding it and keeping its mutagenic energy away from him– and then turn and darted away through the city, heading for the Shantytown erected outside the city's walls and, in recent times, even beginning to "recolonise" the buildings and space just beyond the walls. Ranma easily slipped into the speed-increasing revision of the Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken technique he'd devised, an idle thought slipping into his mind that he really needed to come up with a name for it. Across shattered tiles and burned wood he dashed, coupling the technique with his prodigious leaping ability to soar from roof to roof –if they could really be called roofs; sometimes they were little more than a single charred beam jutting from the burned ruins of a house– before dropping back onto solid ground. At the speed he was moving, it was all too easy for him to actively sneak up on the other "inhabitants" of the city, and it ended up becoming a game for him.

He darted through a three-way battle between Beastmen, Cult of the Possessed and Vampire Counts, slipping past the various warband members with such ease that they failed to even notice he was there until the wind from his departure whipped up the ashes coating the ground into a whirling storm. He leapt through the branches of a grove of carnivorous trees, laughing with glee as thorn-studded branches and strangling vines whipped and slashed through the air where he had been, the sound of wooden fangs grinding against each other so hard that they splintered and a chorus of angry, hungry moans echoing in his wake. Finally, the cracked, battered wall that encircled the City of the Damned –serving, depending on who you asked, to either keep the foolish out or the monsters in– came into sight.

Ranma hurtled towards it at full speed and cleared the top of it in a single prodigious bound, landing gracefully on the ground on the other side. Straightening up, he gave himself an unconscious brush-off to remove any dust and ash before walking calmly and coolly down the street, in search of the nearest tavern. As Ranma's group –they didn't think of themselves as a warband, especially when they compared themselves to the other warbands they encountered inside Mordheim– had learned, the Shantytown did have some organization to it. Firstly, the taverns- which were really any suitable large buildings (or even tents) owned by one or more people who could and would provide alcoholic refreshment and food to those with the money –or Warpstone– to pay for it. Secondly were the merchants, the only "outsiders" who were actually welcomed in Mordheim, due to the essential supplies (foodstuffs, alcohol, weapons, armour and other "adventuring" gear) that they brought in from beyond Mordheim. Finally were the roving bands of bandits and prostitutes, though their constant infighting and turf-squabbles meant that they couldn't really be considered organized. At least until some sort of leader managed to bully a suitably large group together anyway.

But these were the last things on Ranma's mind as he walked casually through the streets of Shantytown, ignoring both the calculating eyes of bandits and pickpockets (he'd earned enough of a reputation in Shantytown that observation would be the only course of action they took) and –albeit with a blush– the lewd propositions of harlots. The more experienced adventurers ignored him in return, though some would acknowledge him with a comparatively friendly sidelong nod. The newer adventurers, who either hadn't heard of him or were too green to believe the tales, looked at him mockingly, "rattling their swords" –as the saying went– in hopes of provoking a fight, though Ranma simply ignored them; they just weren't worth the effort of beating some sense into them. Besides, Mordheim had a high-enough death rate without him adding to it. Finally, a large building with a sign bearing the legend "The Ratmaid" and a picture of a naked woman with a Skaven's head and a lower torso composed of a tail that was equal parts rat and fish came into view.

Ranma smirked softly, finally; a tavern. And not just any tavern either; this was the place that had become the unofficial "resting point" for Ranma's group, primarily because the place also featured rooms to spend the night and an in-house merchant. Not to mention it was indiscriminate in terms of who it let in- something that irked the Witch Hunters to no end. Of course, the last time they'd made the mistake of attacking the place, Ranma and company had been staying there. The resultant battle was one source of the reputation Ranma had earned. It was also more than likely the reason why that Witch Hunter warband had come after them that morning, but Ranma didn't bother thinking about that. Instead, he simply walked up to the doors and headed inside; this was a perfect place to get some information.

Inside was the usual motley array of rogues, brigands and adventurers. The crowd looked up instinctively from their mugs and tankards as the door opened, then returned to what they were doing. Ranma strode over to the bar, a rather nice piece of work that, judging by the scorchmarks and splintered gashes, had more than likely been prised from a far richer tavern somewhere inside the city. Adric, the bartender (rumoured by many to be so "sympathetic" to mutants and outcasts because he himself was mutated) nodded at Ranma from where he was passing a bottle of Torn Shine to a grimy Dwarf. Ranma grimaced as the Dwarf knocked back half the bottle of moonshine in a single gulp; he couldn't understand why anyone would drink that stuff- it tasted just like the ass of a hornet that'd been rubbing with poison oak. Or at least, that's how Adric described the taste when Ranma had first tried the stuff, and Ranma decided to take Adric's word for it.

"G'day Ranma. Usual bottle of Torn Wall Whiskey?"

"Not today thanks, I think I'll try a bottle of Ram's Blood Whiskey."

Adric nodded and ducked behind the counter to surface with a bottle filled with brilliant red fluid and bearing a label with a ram's skull on it. Ranma pulled the requisite handful of gold pieces from a ki pocket and scattered them onto the bar before popping the cork and taking a slow, cautious swallow, appreciating both the light taste with its long and steady burn and the irony that he, for all his abhorrence of Sake, had taken to the various alcohols served in Mordheim taverns. Speaking of which, he still owed Fergee a keg of fungus beer, didn't he? He made a mental note to try and find an Orc tavern, then –still clutching the bottle of whiskey– walked over to start mingling with the crowd; he still needed to find out about this "Lord Ethelbert's Troupe".

_Apologies for the delay getting this up- I meant to post it yesterday, but I posted a PM to a reviewer and it took a while for them to respond. Ironically, I didn't even end up using the material he'd sent me in this chapter! Ah well, there's room for it in the next chapter, which should be up tomorrow. Yeah, no threats about "if you keep reviewing at this rate" because, well, there's just no point- this story gets reviews. It's undeniable._

_Although I promised to leave off doing AHFWH until this story is done, I still can't help but make use of this story's popularity to assist me in preparation for when I do resume writing that story. In a future chapter of AHFWH, I was intending to have Ranma encounter a very special Chaos Champion; an ancestor of his from 2000 years ago who willingly came to serve Chaos, even though he wasn't the "Chosen One". His name is Onigumo Saotome, and I need your advice on fleshing him out- suggestions on his appearance, chaos rewards he might have and personality; all I can really figure out is that he's obsessed with spiders, to the point he's developed his own martial arts style based on them (suggestions on how this would work, please?) and his own school of "Arachnomancy"- aka Spider Magic. I really need suggestions for spider-themed magical items he might have and, especially, Arachnomancy spells; I need at least six spells to complete his school._


	26. Chapter 26

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** guess the previous chapter wasn't so good, huh? It's now got the lowest amount of reviews for this story. Ah well, this should hopefully be a return to the normal state of things. Also, thank you all for your help; I have the basic details for Onigumo Saotome now ready for when I return to writing "And Hell Followed With Him". (By the way, he is not Naraku; he just has the same name.) Also, before people ask; "Wyrdstone" is the common name amongst humans for Warpstone, and most humans don't know the names of the Dark Gods of Chaos –primarily because the Witch Hunters burn anyone who's even rumoured to have whispered one of those names– and thus refer to them by title. Khorne is the Blood God, Slaanesh is the Dark Prince, Nurgle is the Lord of Decay and Tzeentch is The Changer of the Ways.

Oh, and Hiryo? I remembered your name from Sacrifice ½, but I honestly wasn't sure if it was you who'd reviewed this story or someone else. Oh, and this is something I seem to need to keep bringing up; if you're going to put a website in your review or PM, then you need to break it up- insert a space at every full-stop or something like that; otherwise FFN just erases it automatically and you end up with a ridiculous looking blank spot.

Chapter 26: The Carnival of Carnage, Part 1

It was late in the afternoon as Ranma returned to where the others would be waiting, recollecting on what he'd found out by talking to the other drinkers.

"Whut? Lord Ethelbert's Troupe? Oh! You means the Carnival! Yeah, I can tells ya how to get there; it's in the Executioner's Square, y'can't miss it. I hear that if'n ya pays fer ya ticket with a wyrdstone shard, ya gets a free escort… if'n ya knows what I mean?" The drunkard had slurred, giving Ranma a lewd wink and a conspiratorial nudge in the ribs as he finished.

"The Carnival? Oh, it's a marvellous place; there's clowns and a strongman and a brothel tent and games and even an eating contest against a Troll! And that's just what's on offer outside; I've never seen the shows in the big tent, the tickets cost too much, but I hear they're a sight to see." A rather young man had gabbled, the prominent scar on his face twitching in his excitement.

"Ah, don't listen to him- that eatin' contest ain't against a troll; it's just a man in a costume." The older man sitting beside him had retorted, waving his hand dismissively.

"There's lots of rumours about that place- I hear that a Pleasure Cult devoted to the Dark Prince has put up shop there."

"I hear that Witch Hunters are gathering an army to destroy the carnival and besiege the city!"

"I hear there's some sort of Daemon that haunts the place! A floating mass of wyrdstone that the Ringmaster uses to talk to the Dark Gods!"

Ranma instantly regretted approaching this gaggle of youths; all looked like raw meat –the local slang for rookie adventurers who'd newly arrived in Mordheim– and the way they'd started trying to top each other with rumours had proved it. He'd ended up leaving them to it and going to find someone else to talk to.

That was about all that he'd learned, other than that the Carnival supposedly sold warpstone shards- though he doubted that they did so for the cheap price the drinker had claimed. As he'd been about to leave the tavern though, he'd heard a faint whistle coming from a particularly dark corner. Curious, he'd approached the table seated there, just barely managing to hold in his shock at the sight of a man who, apart from his gender and the fact he was ten years older than her, was the spitting image of Nabiki Tendo. The man had grinned, bearing a grin full of rotten teeth, and then spoken to him in a hoarse whisper.

"I hear you want to know about the Carnival… sit with me and I'll tell you the real deal, if you make it worth my while…"

Ranma was hesitant, but finally sat down and tossed a handful of silver pieces onto the table, where they promptly disappeared.

"Lord Ethelbert's Troupe? That's what the peasants call it, makes it seem fancy and intelligent. Truth is it has more in common with the Carnival Of Chaos then anything else. There are... things in that place that no Sigmar-fearing folk would want to witness… terrible, horrible things. Of course, I don't fear Sigmar, so I could tell you a few things… for a small fee…"

He'd rubbed his fingers together meaningfully, and Ranma had sighed and tossed him a sliver of warpstone. His eyes lit up with greed and the shard barely had time to bounce once across the table before it disappeared. Tucking it somewhere about his grubby person, he grinned smugly and began to speak.

"You want to know about that Mad Carnival, do you? Well, since you payed so handsomely with that wyrdstone shard I believe I can enlighten you. That place is one of the few sources of decent entertainment in this Chaos-damned city, a place where you can see fantastic sights and gamble away your life with the same ease as spending your gold. The Carnival is located in Executioner's Square; you can't miss the sight of the main tent rising into the sky. The games and contests are located outside the main tent, everything you could want from eating contests against a troll to fighting pits against man, animal and mutant. But the real entertainment is in the main tent."

He halted here, and Ranma reluctantly gave him another shard of warpstone.

"The first show performed is the acrobatic delights of Skizzle Rokhed's Dancing Squig Herd and Squig Rider Performers, an amazing display of beast and greenskin- though you could barely tell what they were with those dark cloaks hiding their features. After that comes a show called the Wizard's Duel; two wizards duke it out in a special arena, one is a member of the Empire's College Of Magic, and the other is an insidious Sorcerer Of Tzeentch. The two battle for hours and yet every duel ends in a draw, although there is plenty of excitement from dodging spells that could either incinerate you or turn you into a Chaos Spawn without any trouble. The last show is a challenge against a man called Doctor Schmidt von Overntoppen, a man they say is so tough that not even a Dwarven Great Cannon can knock him down."

All of this had been percolating in Ranma's mind, and he almost failed to realise that he'd found his way back to the square where the others had been waiting. Almost. He was rather relived that the four hadn't killed each other whilst he was gone- not that they hated each other or anything like that, but they had to have been bored. And Squee, at least, was at his most dangerous when he was bored- as evidenced by the scorched, molten patches of rock surrounding the place, and the fact he was currently bound up in so much rope he looked like a cheap mummy. The restrained Fire Kobold was the first to spot him at his perch upon a shattered roof, and promptly resumed his struggles, flailing and mumbling like a maniac until Forna hit him over the head with her greataxe.

'Why do I always seem to run into the girls who like to hit people with blunt objects?' Ranma mused internally. Shrugging it off as unimportant, he gently landed in the street.

"I'z back."

"About time; you find anything out?"

"Quite a bit, and it sounds like the carnival is just the place for us to go and blow off some steam. So let's- hey, where's Chirrick?"

Said Skaven was revealed to be curled up and sleeping beneath a crude shelter of debris. Ranma groaned; Chirrick was the perfect definition of a heavy sleeper- the Skaven had even slept through a fight once, when the group had been attacked by a Vampire warband one night. The battle had practically levelled their sleeping spot, and Chirrick hadn't so much as twitched throughout the battle. Ranma had almost declared him dead, though the Skaven had finally chosen that particular moment to wake up and thus had saved himself from being buried alive. Ranma quickly shook off the reminiscences and returned to the matter at hand- how was he supposed to wake this lazy Skaven up? Then he had an idea- holding up the bag of warpstone shards, he let it drop onto the ground beside Chirrick's head.

"MINE-MINE!"

After finally getting Chirrick to calm down, untying Squee and having the Fire Kobold regain consciousness, the quintet had set out for Executioner's Square, the place that had once been the most blood-drenched in the city. Until the twin-tailed comet had fallen anyway. As Ranma had been told, the place was most easily recognizable; a great tent rising from the center and surrounded by a myriad of smaller tents and wagons and stalls. The place was packed with people, all of them adventurers come to blow off steam and relax by enjoying the cheery atmosphere and freedom from the threat of death. Pausing to allow Chirrick and Squee to get into their "disguises" –even in Mordheim neither Skaven nor Greenskins could just walk about amongst humans– the group handed over five gold pieces to the scowling, armour-clad guards and entered the square-proper. Ranma took a look over his fellows.

"There ain't really anything to worry about, so why don't we split up? We'll meet at the main tent in, say an hour?"

Nods of assent greeted his words, and without any further conversation the five warriors split up, wandering away as they pleased. Squee was the first to halt, head pivoting as he audibly sniffed the air; he could smell something familiar- and delicious! Following his questing nose, the Fire Kobold finally tracked the scent to a food vendor's cart, whereupon he started to salivate with equal parts hunger and joy- the vendor was selling spicy foods of all sorts, and there was nothing a Fire Kobold loved more than spicy food. Eighteen silver pieces bought so much spicy food that Squee could barely carry it all, and licking his lips with glee he tried to find a place to devour his booty. Behind him he left an obvious trail as spicy sauces dribbles from the food and clouds of spice wafted into the air, causing more than a few people to start sneezing in his wake.

With his vision all but blocked by all the food he was carrying, Squee somehow ended up sitting on the ground beside a stall, next to which a group of clowns were performing. Had Squee not been thoroughly engrossed in his food, he would have noticed that these were rather odd-looking clowns indeed. Their clothes were motley array of dark blue, blood red and black, with the occasional patch of yellow, and decorated with imagery of skulls and daggers and droplets of either blood or tears. Their facepaint was primarily blood red and black, with highlights of white, smeared in designs intended to intimidate and terrify. All in all they were a very sinister looking bunch, and they definitely did not look like the sort of people who really should be juggling daggers, or performing fire-eating acts- especially when the third clown accidentally tumbled into his companion, causing her to gulp down the incendiary chemicals she'd been about to sip. Her eyes bulged comically and her throat pulsed as she wrapped her arms around her stomach, the viewers scattering as she suddenly belched a massive fireball directly into their midst. Fortunately for the spectators, none of them was hit.

Unfortunately for the clowns, the fireball hit Squee, burning off his hood and –more importantly– wrecking a good amount of the food he'd bought. The indignant Fire Kobold glared at them, then suddenly grabbed what remained of his food and rapidly scarfed it down, the sudden intake of spices reacting violently with the internal alchemical laboratory that was a Fire Kobold's digestive system. The end result? A massive geyser of flames erupted forth and enveloped the unlucky clowns, burning them to ashes in the space of a heartbeat. Squee snorted in disdain, and stood up, brushing himself clean and stifling a hiccup, only to blink in surprise as the sound of laughter and cheers arose from the spectators, coins suddenly raining down around him. Confused, but in no desire to argue, Squee simply bowed theatrically and began scooping up his bounty.

Forna on the other hand was not enjoying her current situation. Her path had led her, completely by accident, to the "House of 1000 Pleasures", and she was trying to escape from the attentions of the –frankly repulsive– "master" of the House. Imagine being accosted by a drunken, lisping Genma dressed in only a gimp mask and a thong- both of them pastel pink. That's what Forna was having to deal with, trying to restrain her instincts to simply chop the disgusting creature in half with her greataxe. He either didn't notice her disgust or didn't care, simply continuing to extol the virtues of his "establishment" whilst emphasising his words with waves from a perfume-soaked handkerchief.

"Oh yesh, we shomething for everyone; we have lushty ladiesh and shtrapping ladsh- and if your tashte runsh to more… exotic faresh, we have thoshe too. In the House of 1000 Pleashuresh, your every wish ish our command."

"Me only wish is fer yoo ta get lost!" screamed Forna, finally losing it and knocking the repugnant man unconscious with a right cross to the face. As the bloated fellow slumped to the floor, Forna got out of there as quickly as possible; both to avoid being there when he regained consciousness and so no one would pin the blame on her.

Ranma whistled to himself as he walked; this had been a good idea. Other than a little accident where one of the clowns –a really big one built like a boulder– had slipped whilst performing acrobatics and fallen into the crowd (it was hard to say who was more surprised when Ranma caught him effortlessly and threw him back to his fellows- who failed to catch him so easily), there'd been no problems whatsoever. He was just contemplating trying his hand at a new game when someone suddenly poked him in the back as a whispered voice reach his ears. Ranma fought down his instincts to whirl around and confront whoever had managed to sneak up on him; he would do so, but only when the moment was right.

"You are Ranma da Weird, once known as Ranma Saotome?"

"Yeah, that's me- whutcha want?"

"I deliver a message, nothing more. Heed me well… in the land of the stone circles, a town falls into a rut… for a gate has opened which should best be shut… as sickness and pox fill the rain-laden air… to the embattled shall you bring hope, or despair?"

"…What the zog is that supposed ta mean?" Ranma finally snapped, whirling around as the pressure disappeared from his back. But there was no one there, and no place where they could have gone. Ranma blinked in confusion, then shook his head; it wasn't really that different to the sort of stuff that used to happen in Nerima after all. Besides, it was time he met with the others to head into the main tent.

_Okay, I originally intended for this chapter to involve the main acts of the Mad Carnival, but it kinda slipt away from me. Rest assured that the next chapter will include the amazing Dancing Squigs and the wondrous Sorcerer's Duel, as well as Ranma & co (plus a new-found ally) showing these Mordheimers how Nerimites bring down the house!_


	27. Chapter 27

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** sorry for the delay in getting this up; had some things on my mind. Also, I'm beginning to worry about the quantity of reviews as well; used to be I never got less than 20 per chapter. Speaking of reviews, exactly what did your review for chapter 26 mean Hiryo? Derakan; I like the idea, but there's the slight fact that neither version of Ranma is exactly in the position to hear of the other's exploits- especially seeing as how Ranma da Weird is in the Empire and Champion Ranma won't be heading out of the Wastes for some time, and when he does he'll be heading into Naggaroth. Thunderstorm101; the message actually refers to a place in the Warhammer world, but it does sound like Nerima, doesn't it?

Chapter 27: The Carnival of Carnage, Part 2

Ranma was somewhat surprised when he finally met up with his companions at the entrance to the main tent. It wasn't the fact that Squee was toting a large bag that, from the way it clinked, was plainly filled with money, but more the fact that Forna bore an expression of mingled rage, embarrassment and relief and Urbari was scowling- more than likely because his moustache was singed and smoking and his armour was covered in soot. The only one who looked both happy and normal was Chirrick, and that was because the Skaven was eating something. Ranma opened his mouth, about to ask the obvious question, and then closed it again; he wasn't sure he actually wanted to know.

Handing over a handful of gold coins to the bored-looking guard at the tent's entrance, the quintet headed into the already-crowded tent in search of seating. Other than a few minor incidents, such as heavy-set woman in fancy clothes making a disdainful comment about Urbari, who promptly stamped on her foot in passage, things actually went pretty smoothly. And quite fortunate that they did as well, for the five had barely gotten seated before the lights suddenly dimmed as an elaborately dressed figure walked into the center of the ring, bearing with him a loudhailer that he promptly put into use.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome one and all to the main shows of Lord Ethelbert's Travelling Troupe of the Amazing and the Fantastic! Tonight, in this very ring, you will witness some of the most incredible, stupendous and unbelievable displays in all the world! I, Ringmaster Harrigan Ethelbert the Magnificently Brilliant, have scoured the farthest corners of the world to amass the most wondrous gathering of talent and skill, the marvellous displays brought before you this very night!"

"Sheesh, this guy could give Kuno a run for his money." Ranma muttered as he shifted restlessly in his seat; this guy was definitely as boring as Kuno was. Fortunately, it seemed that it was now time for the first act to begin, though of course the Ringmaster had to deliver his spiel first before the actual event.

"Now come one, come all, and witness the most amazing display of animal control ever! From the deepest caverns of the World's Edge Mountains comes Skizzle Rokhed and his Dancing Squig Bonanza! Watch and marvel as these daring Night Goblins and their highly trained Cave Squigs perform complex aerial manoeuvres and perform death-defying stunts of high-speed acrobatics!"

"Cave Squigs?" Ranma murmured, his interest piqued, but his question went unanswered as the crowd began to cheer wildly as a chorus of "Boing! Boing! Boing!" rolled from the depths of the tent. As Ranma and his companions watched, about a dozen spherical creatures bounded into the ring by powerful legs, the familiar forms of Night Goblins clinging for dear life to tiny ears or horns or a chain-and-bridle combo stuffed in their steed's prominent, fang-ringed mouth. To the enthusiastic applause of the crowd, the Night Goblins began urging their steeds to perform the sort of tricks you'd expect of show-horses, at which Ranma leant towards Forna.

"What are those things?"

"Squigs? Dey comes from caves and tunnels- da Night Goblins herd 'em inta battle an' sometimes dey ride 'em. Never fawt I'd see somefing like dis though."

"Why not?"

"Coz Squigs iz untrainable, dat's why! A Squig wud rather eat somewun stupid enough to jump on itz back den let 'em ride, and dey tend ta explode when dey getz excited."

With that information now learned, Ranma's respect for the Squig Riders increased- especially seeing as how there was neither a single explosion nor casualty throughout the act. Finally, the Squigs stopped bouncing as a massive spherical cage, somewhat like a giant hamster ball, was rolled into the center of the ring, the Ringmaster stepping forward.

"And now, the grand finale of the act! The infamous Doomball!"

He paused here for a second as a door was opened in the cage and the Squig Riders began herding into it, and then resumed speaking.

"In this dazzling, death-defying display of riding and acrobatics, these Squig Riders will run faster, faster and faster inside of this spherical cage, nimbly avoiding each other whilst leaping through the air to pluck the petals from a rose held by a brave volunteer! Who here has the iron nerves and the steely heart to join these ravenous predators in the Doomball? Who here will risk life and limb by proffering a rose flower to over two hundred pounds of fang, claw and fungus? Surely there is one amongst you who is brave enough to take the challenge and risk it all for a bag of gold?"

Ranma could feel the shiver of excitement that raced through the crowd, but none stepped forward. He was idly considering volunteering himself when something sharp jabbed him forcefully in the butt. Instinctively leaping to his feet, the plank he was standing on suddenly collapsed and threw him forwards, which Ranma instinctively turned into a somersaulting leap into the center of the ring. He landed easily beside the Ringmaster, at which the crowd burst into a fresh bout of cheers; Ranma was a natural acrobat after all. Before he could say or do anything, or even think, the Ringmaster was handing him a long-stemmed (thornless) rose and pushing him into the spherical cage, slamming the door shut behind him. Ranma finally regained his senses to realise he was surrounded by Squig-mounted Night Goblins, the gleam in their beady little eyes and the grins adorning their faces clearly revealing to the Warboss that they were planning trouble.

There was no signal that anyone without Ranma's finely tuned danger senses would have been aware of, but when the Squig Riders exploded into action, stampeding from all sides and directions in an intent to mow the "witless victim" down, they found Ranma was far from helpless. Ranma easily sidestepped, dodged, leapt over and ducked beneath the bouncing masses of fang and claw, refraining from striking only because he doubted that the audience would appreciate him turning the Squig Riders into fungus pate. Seen from outside, it was something like a chaotic pinball machine, with Squigs bouncing here, there and everywhere whilst Ranma remained essentially static.

Ranma was just beginning to enjoy himself –it was rather reminiscent of the agility and dodging training he used to undergo back in Nerima– when the Squigs finally collapsed from exhaustion, their riders slumping in the saddle as the confused Ranma was extracted from the cage and ushered back into his seat. The Ringmaster seemed a bit shocked, but quickly resumed his bombastic enthusiasm as the spherical cage was rolled away, Squig Riders still inside, and a pair of ornate podiums were brought into the ring and placed at opposite ends.

"And now, for the second of tonight's three fantastic shows! Magic is an undeniable fact of life, ladies and gentlemen, from the strange and fantastical arts of the Eight Colleges to the foul and unholy crafts of the Blighted North. Tonight, for your viewing pleasure, we shall witness the truest representation of magic; here, in the Sorcerer's Duel! Hailing from the prestigious Celestial Order in Altdorf, I give you one of the most talented of that enlightened brethren- the great, the noble, the proud; Callus the Thunderer!"

There was sudden burst of smoke from one podium, and when it cleared there was a figure standing upon it, dressed in the robes and pointy hat of a stereotypical Western wizard. His robes were tattered and filthy, stained and scorched in numerous places. Deep-set brown eyes peered out suspiciously from a heavily scarred face, beneath a prominent widow's peak of grey hair and above a thick moustache and beard.

"Few are the sane men brave enough to brave the cold and hellish desolation of the far north, but I single-handedly travelled there in pursuit of a mighty and hellish Champion of The Prince of Schemers, defeating the foul abomination in single combat and forcing him to serve me! Behold; the loathsome and vile Razgriz the Trusted, a once-favoured slave of The Changer of Ways!"

A brilliant burst of multi-coloured flames exploded from the second podium, and when they died down another figure stood there. An all-encompassing steel helmet, the front moulded into a grotesque vulture-like mask, obscured this figure's face and the robes he wore were clean and pristine, though decorated with a strange "hook and eye" symbol. An iron-trimmed book bound in blue leather was chained to the figure's back, and his hands were twisted, bird-like talons wrapped in crude gauntlets made from strips of leather. Callus glared hatefully at this new arrival, who seemed to be ignoring him as the ringmaster spoke up again.

"Now watch and tremble as these two most powerful of wizards, bitterest of enemies whose mutual past I am forbidden to speak, engage in a sorcerer's duel to the death in order to prove who is the stronger mage! Who will win this terrifying battle? Place your bets ladies and gentlemen; it begins!"

The Ringmaster barely managed to leap to safety as Callus suddenly hurled a massive blast of lightning at Razgriz, who casually countered by creating a giant tower-shield from yellow flames in front of himself, the lightning bolt literally smashing against it in a brilliant explosion. He then launched a counter-assault, in the form of a draconic form constructed entirely from rainbow-hued fire, which Callus ensnared in chains of lightning that constricted until they crushed the firedrake to death. And with that the gloves were off; fire-blasts and lightning bolts danced and screamed across the ring, explosions shook the air and fantastic and nightmarish constructs of flame, shadow and lightning lunged and duelled in the sky above. Finally, it was Callus who was victorious; a seemingly misaimed blast of lightning ricocheted from the ceiling and struck Razgriz firmly in the back, causing him to fall flat on his face with a scream of defeat.

"Callus wins! Once again the noble magics of the Empire have triumphed over the foul and heretical arts of the north!"

Callus ignored the Ringmaster, instead focusing another blast of lightning- only to suddenly disappear in a blast of smoke, as did Razgriz and the podiums. The tent rang with cheers and groans and money changed hands as the Ringmaster beamed triumphantly.

"And now, for the grand finale of tonight's show… once in a generation, there is born a talent so strange, so great, so incredible that it simply must be shown to the world! I present to you one such man… Doctor Schmidt von Overntoppen, the greatest pistoleer in the world! Watch and marvel at his dazzling displays of sharpshooting and trick-shots!"

The crowd burst into the loudest display of enthusiasm yet as a tall, thin man walked into the center of the stage, attendants scurrying to set up an array of targets. He was of uncertain age, definitely older than Ranma, though with a luxuriant head of black hair and a carefully maintained handlebar moustache, the tips of which where beginning to turn grey. His green eyes glittered with a not-unfriendly light from a scarred face. He wore a well-worn pocket-covered overcoat of brown leather over a white shirt, over which was slung a pair of bandoleers bearing over a dozen pistols. Upon his back he wore a large pack, and slung in between it and his back was a heavily customised blunderbuss. He stamped a foot, sheathed in a boot that looked like it could survive a trot through molten lava, in impatience, the sword that hung from his left hip jingling as he did so.

Finally the act began, and Ranma quickly learned why the crowd seemed to have been waiting for him. The man was an undeniable master with his pistols, and even Urbari looked impressed- when he was sure nobody was watching him anyway. Finally, after such tricks as hitting three moving targets positioned behind him whilst blind-folded, firing six pistols in rapid succession to score six perfect bullseyes and ricocheting a single bullet so that it drilled through six apples, the Doctor settled for the grand finale of his act, which essentially consisted of launching a fireworks display from his blunderbuss. The act over, the crowd began to depart- Ranma started to join them, only to be pulled to a halt by Urbari.

"What'z up?"

"Aren't you forgetting something manling? The gold! That manling with the fancy clothes owes us a bag of gold!"

"It ain't dat important." Murmured Forna, resulting in a horrified look from Urbari.

"Bite your tongue!"

"Awright, awright; enough already- we'll speak ta the Ringmaster."

Easily pushing their way through the crowd, the quintet made their way into the ring (Forna had to stop and hoist Squee and Urbari over) and over to the Ringmaster, who started at the sight of them.

"Eh? What do you want?"

"Ya said that the volunteer for the Doomball would get a bag of gold- I'm here ta collect."

"Wha- oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten; my humblest apologies. Please, wait here, I'll just go and fetch it for you."

The Ringmaster made an obsequious bow and hurried off. Ranma threw a questioning look at Urbari, who grunted in satisfaction. Neither of them noticed that Doctor Overntoppen had approached them until the man spoke.

"Excuse me, young man, I have a request for you."

"Huh? Whutcha want?"

"To put it bluntly- I want you to take me with you from this wretched place!"

"What? Why?"

"I sicken of this place, of the Ringmaster's corruption, of being caged here in this wretched ruin of a city, in being a slave to his deranged whims. I want to travel, to see the world- I need to get out of here! Please, I beg of you, take me with you!"

"I don't fink dat humie would let us take ya."

"Who cares what he wants; in fact, we should leave now! While we still have the chance to escape!"

"What about the gold!" protested Urbari, the others being dumbstruck by Doctor Overntoppen's words.

"Forget the gold- the man's a slaver! If we don't leave he'll be back here with every brigand and thug under his employ; you'll join me as his pet performers unless we-"

"Too little, too late good doctor. I warned you about this before… perhaps I should replace you with these newcomers- the boy at least demonstrates great potential…"

Ranma and his allies looked first at the Ringmaster, then at the small army of crooks surrounding them. Ranma cracked his knuckles, then his neck, a soft hint of a smile creeping onto his face. At his unspoken signal, the other warband members exploded into action…

_Okay, sorry to cut it off there, but I just couldn't think of a way to describe the resultant battle. I'm sure you can imagine how Ranma & co defeat the army, set the circus aflame and then flee the city into the forest to rejoin the Fikskulls with their new ally, the Ringmaster vowing vengeance as the flames consume him and the other performers either dieing or fleeing into Mordheim. Anyway, other than the fact that the next chapter takes place in Sylvania –Vampire country– I'm open to suggestions. In other word; it's suggest a scenario time! Also, the basic guide to the upcoming arc is that Ranma & the Fikskulls are heading south through Sylvania until they reach the coast, there they will build an armada to start sailing- though do you want them to head to the Southlands (tropical jungle inhabited by Lizardmen, below the Badlands and the undead-infested deserts of Khemri) or to the swampy island of Albion (basically Scotland where it never stops raining)?_


	28. Chapter 28

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** well, originally I wasn't going to do the fight scene that led on from the end of last chapter, but your reviews convinced me to give it a shot. Consider this a second opportunity to vote for where you want me to take Ranma & co. By the way, Chibi-Reaper; did you get that PM I sent you? If so, please respond; I was thinking of making that scenario you suggested the focus of the next chapter(s). Also, Booyah; the Squig Riders are riding Cave Squigs, and Squee's Squig is a unique mutant Squig- it looks so different to them that Ranma didn't think that they were the same species. Oh, and Amwood? I'd like you to post those jokes you mentioned in your last review to this story- I might find a use for them. And I can't wait to see your stats!

Anyway, I'd like to point out that I'm considering resuming working on "Me and My Infernal Shadow" and posting it roughly co-terminus with this story. I'd like to point out that, in both that story and this one, I welcome external ideas (by review, pm or email) on scenarios to use as the basis for chapters. I'm also thinking about resuming work on AHFWH in much the same manner- which means that at least one of the stories should be updated per week.

Speaking of stories, I'm considering writing a D&D story (custom-setting of my own design) but there's a slight problem; I was intending to go for the standard six members adventuring party, but I can only think of one- a Male Human Warlock with a Night Hag mother. Anyone interested in giving me a hand putting this story together?

Chapter 28: Bringing Down the House

Even their newfound ally was caught off balance by the speed and ferocity with which Ranma and his warband attacked, and by the time the circus-dwellers recovered over a dozen men lay dead or dying upon the sawdust.

"Capture them!" shouted the Ringmaster, forcing his way backwards as the guards swarmed forward in a futile attempt to contain the sextet, their actions hiding those of the Ringmaster. Ranma easily glided around blows, or simply let them glance off his armour, before countering with his usual array of punches, kicks and staff-blows. Beside him, Forna and Urbari teamed their axe-blows so that their opponents had to avoid near-simultaneous high and low blow. Those who failed were either decapitated or had their knees hacked off and then were decapitated. Squee was literally fuming with indignation though; he couldn't use his explosives in this enclosed area (not because he'd hurt himself –the whole Fire Kobold immunity to flames thing– but because his companions didn't share his immunity and Squee was naturally averse to having his organs squeezed out through his mouth) but none of the guards were paying any attention to him anyway. To the extent that even when he deliberately dropped his guard, none of them would even pay him a single glance.

Doctor Overntoppen was the only one of the group not fighting, partially because of the fact he was stunned by the fighting skill demonstrated and mostly because he was frantically reloading his brace of pistols- one of the faults with blackpowder weapons was that they only carried a single shot and needed to be reloaded manually afterwards. In fact, he was so distracted that he failed to register the guard sneaking up behind him with a cosh until the man walloped him over the back of the head with it. To the guard's surprise, the good doctor apparently wasn't even fazed, instead spinning around to confront him. A second blow smashed squarely into the doctor's face, resulting in nothing more than a faint trickle of blood oozing from his left nostril. The guard drew his weapon back for a third strike, but by that time Doctor Overntoppen had finished reloading a pistol- which meant that the guard's brains were promptly spattered across the ground.

"Yer a pretty tough guy." Ranma grunted in a distracted tone before slamming his elbow into a rear-flanker's throat and dispatching the two guards at his front with a scissors-kick. Doctor Overntoppen quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything as he drew the sword from his hip and used it to slay the guard menacing him. By now the sextet had inflicted sufficient casualties that the morale of the surviving guards was utterly broken; as one they turned and fled. Neither Ranma nor his comrades bothered to pursue them, though Forna, Urbari and Squee all shouted abuse after them. Unfortunately for the group, as the guards fled they were replaced; at least a dozen of the creepy clowns from outside tumbled into the arena, genuine malevolent grins beneath their painted grimaces. Doctor Overntoppen swallowed nervously.

"Uh oh…"

"So he sent in the clowns? So what? What's your problem?"

"My problem is that those aren't clowns- they're Death Cultists!"

"What're those?"

And that was when one of those oversized carnival mallets, an object that was all-too-familiar to Ranma, came spinning through the air in a blur and ricocheted off the back of Ranma's head. The sudden impact knocked him flat on his front.

"Religious fanatics devoted to the worship of the God of Murder!" Doctor Overntoppen explained, alternatively dodging and using his bullets to deflect a barrage of flaming daggers and acid-cream pies.

"Now ya tell me…" Ranma grunted, heaving himself off the ground and throwing a dirty look at the Death Clowns. Dodging what was either a rainbow-painted shuriken or a razor-sharp lollypop, he launched himself towards the closest Death Clown- a monstrously obese creature, whose girth was evidently mutation-base, given the way that Ranma's arm sunk up to the shoulder in the rolls of flab. It chortled, a deep phlegmatic sound, and then seized Ranma's free arm and swung him over its head, pulling him free as it launched him into the air. With his usual ease, Ranma landed unharmed and battle-ready, as the Death Clown that tried to bury a rusty axe in his head from behind found it when Ranma promptly stuffed the weapon blade-first down its throat. Ranma's allies quickly rallied to their leader's defence, and soon battle was raging once more beneath the Big Top. And that was when the Ringmaster finally reappeared, and with him came both of the mages from the second act, Callus hovering in mid-air, Razgriz standing on a floating disc of metal. Doctor Overntoppen was the first to spot them as he wiped the blood from his eyes, and groaned in dismay.

"Oh great; we almost had a chance…"

"Ain't no place in my horde fer cowards! 'Sides, who's ta say that they won't join us?"

"I hate to tell you this, but I'm perhaps the only slave here; all of the other 'acts' are willing; they're too insane or too monstrous to fit in anywhere else. Those two are Harrigan's personal enforcers!"

"And now you zhall zzzuffer for your treachery!" cackled Callus, his voice buzzing and sizzling like raw voltage as he spoke. He held his hands apart, electrical energy crackling around them before surging forth to meet in the space between, a pulsing orb of raw power that rapidly grew in strength until it exploded outward in a deadly beam. Almost exactly at that moment, a whip-like streamer of blood-crimson flames slashed across Callus' arm, causing him to shout with pain and his spell to vaporise a cluster of Death Clowns rather than Forna and Urbari. He whirled to face the source of the attack; the smirking form of Razgriz, hands wreathed in flaming crimson smoke. As Ranma made the fifth strike with Gitzduffd's Staff, finally managing to punch all the way through the bloated Death Clown's protective layers of blubber and rock-hard bones to impale the ichor-pumping heart beneath, he wondered why Razgriz had done that, followed closely by how it was possible to be obviously smirking when you were wearing a mask-like helmet. Razgriz waved one smoking finger in a mockingly chiding gesture.

"Uh-uh-uh… not on my watch."

"What foul treachery is this? Razgriz! I order you to capture these wretches!"

"Foolish human… my purpose in this wretched little hole is complete… The Lord of Sorcerers has no further designs for this locale, and I have no further use for a mindless worm such as yourself. It is time I sought greener pastures… but before I go, we have a score that has waited too long to be settled, Callus!"

"I'll burn you to azhezzz you zzzpawn of darknezz! I will zhow you who izzz the better wizard!"

A crack of thunder almost deafened those below as Callus suddenly launched a particularly swift and powerful lightning bolt at Razgriz, who just barely managed to deflect it with a meteor of yellow fire before responding with a streamer of ice-blue flames. Callus encased himself in a diamond-shaped cage of electricity, the flames spattering against the voltage with a sound like a giant bug-zapper. It was the Sorcerer's Duel all over again, but even more violent this time.

"Razgriz! Callus! Stop this at once! Do you hear me? I command you to stop! I command you to smite my enemies, not each other! I am the lord of all I survey; I am the embodiment of heaven's wrath! Obey me! Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Obey ME!"

"You are just like Kuno! If yer such a great fighter, then why don'tcha prove it? Fight me, ya lapdog!" Ranma bellowed to make himself heard over the cacophony, finishing off the last of the Death Clowns in his way with a literally heart-crushing palm-strike to the chest. Harrigan howled like a crazed dog, drawing a previously unseen sword from behind his back. It wasn't a katana though, just a Western-style bastard sword, which somewhat defied the Kuno-like image the Ringmaster had projected. He held its hilt with both hands and swung it in Ranma's direction- the Warboss's disdainful smirk at such an amateurish display of premature striking giving way to stunned surprise as a silvery crescent appeared in the wake of the blade's tip. He just managed to dodge the attack, which conveniently lopped off the head of another Death Clown, and then hurtled forwards hoping to cut off Harrigan's ability to use that attack. Dodging a miniature whirlwind, which reminded Ranma uncomfortably at that little "Speed of Light Elixir" trick of Happosai's, Ranma lunged with Gitzduffd's Staff. Enchanted bone and eldritch steel rang against each other, clashing with such fury and speed that sparks flew in pale imitation of the arcane battle being played out above them.

"So what's all this about 'the wrath of heaven', hmm? Yer the worst fighter I've ever fought!"

"Dog! Vermin! Uncouth barbaric filth! I'll strike the head from your shoulders!"

"Actually, I have fought someone worse than ya, but not by a long shot. Ya really remind me a' him; he was loud-mouthed mudbrain too!"

Harrigan's response was a wordless bellow of sheer fury, his blows losing skill but gaining in sheer strength as his rage stoked him into frenzy. Ranma found himself actually taking a step backwards as a result of the maniac's ferocity. And that was when a flaming boulder suddenly tore through the canvas roof of the tent and smashed into the ground near the main support, exploding like a bomb to send white-hot rock shrapnel and raging embers scything through the air. Needless to say, in a place so stuffed with cloth and rope and straw and oil as a circus tent, fire quickly roared into life. Harrigan forgot all about Ranma and whirled round to the point where the two wizards still, ignorant of the flames now spreading across the roof above their heads. He was practically frothing at the mouth as he shrieked his fury to the uncaring duo.

"You maniac Callus! Look what you've done to my circus!"

"Fergit about yer circus an' worry about yerself!" Ranma snapped as he struck the Ringmaster from behind, almost pitching the self-proclaimed noble onto his face before he caught himself and came back at Ranma with a guttural snarl. As the two resumed their struggle, the sorcerer's simultaneously launched massive pillars of their respective element at each other, lightning and rainbow-hued flamed merging and thrusting against each other in a massive clump that surged first towards Callus, then towards Razgriz. The battle of wills finally went to the Tzeentchian; the globe of arcane power suddenly blasted back at the Celestial Wizard with incredible speed, the deranged master of Heavens Magic unable even to scream as its power engulfed him and he disappeared in an explosion of arcane energy. As the afterglow faded away, Razgriz finally seemed to become aware that the entire Big Top was up in flames now, and in response to its master's unspoken desires the Disk of Tzeentch shot up into the sky, taking him through a hole in the roof and away into the darkness.

Neither Ranma nor Harrigan noticed the outcome of Razgriz and Callus' duel, or the fact that the fire was now so fierce and widespread it had forced Ranma's companions to flee the Big Top, despite their concerns for his safety. And still they fought, darting unconsciously through the flames before engaging each other again. It was in one of these standstills that Ranma heard a distinct sort of creaking noise- and quickly realised that it was a cluster of seats coming down. He instantly backflipped out of its reach, but Harrigan failed to dive clear; while it didn't kill him, it pinned him to the ground. Clawing frantically at the ground in an effort to free himself, he spat at Ranma.

"You will suffer for this! Do you hear me? You will suffer! Suffer! SUFFER!"

This final word trailed off into a scream as the ground suddenly gave way beneath him, pitching Harrigan and the debris into the darkness below. Ranma's confusion at this revelation of a cavern beneath the streets was quickly drowned by his concern at the realisation he was surrounded by fire, which prompted a quick escape before the entire place came down and he was simultaneously burned and crushed to death. A series of super-leaps and he was out of there, racing semi-blindly through the streets of Mordheim to get away from the blaze behind him. As he wondered how to find his companions, the sound of a gunshot suddenly caught his attention. Following his ears, he quickly managed to locate his exhausted, soot-and-blood-smeared fellows, silently creeping into the plaza where they were standing.

"Fire another shot- he may not have heard that one."

"And waste the bullet? I'm sorry, but your leader is probably dead."

"Who's probably dead?" asked Ranma; unable to resist grinning at the way he startled them. But it was hard to say who was more startled when Forna suddenly caught him in a vice-like embrace that probably would have broken his ribs if it weren't for his superhuman endurance. They remained locked like that for maybe a heartbeat, then Forna seemed to realise what she was doing and promptly shoved Ranma away before slamming a rock-like fist on the top of his head.

"Ya zoggin' maniac! Don't never do somefing like dat again, ya hears me!"

"…I never knew ya cared Forna." Ranma found himself teasing in reply. Forna snorted disdainfully.

"I don't- I jus' don't wanna 'splain ta da uvvers what happened ta ya."

"Much as I dislike having to disturb this emotional moment, may I suggest that we vacate this immediate location, post-haste?"

There was a group "huh?" at Doctor Overntoppen's words.

"He means shift yer asses and let'z get outta here." Grumbled Ranma in explanation, hauling himself back to his feet before leading the willing Fikskulls out of Mordheim; they'd all had enough of "civilisation" for a while.

Harrigan groaned at the pain suddenly making its presence felt; it was though his entire body was crushed. He opened his eyes… in utter darkness. As his confusion began to mount, he felt something stirring. It was as though the darkness was… _breathing_… and then, a voice suddenly spoke, seemingly echoing from the very depths of his soul.

_**"Welcome, Harrigan… I have been waiting for you…"**_

_Okay, show of hands who thinks I didn't have the faintest clue what I was actually doing here? (raises hand) Anyway, next chapter should begin production… whenever Chibi-Reaper finally replies to my question from the beginning's Author's Notes. Gideon020; despite what it looks like, I actually did go with your suggested fate for Callus; could you possibly give me an idea on how to do his "reappearance"? And that of Harrigan?_

_On a different topic; does anyone remember that female Blood Dragon Vampire I considered having pursue Ranma? Well, I was thinking to have her start pursing him after the end of the Sylvania arc- if people still want her. Could I get some suggestions for her name and appearance? Some ideas on what her personality is like and/or why she wants Ranma would also be appreciated._

_On a final random note; I believe that it's common for authors here on FFN to listen to music whilst writing, in order to inspire them. I've actually been doing so myself, but I'm not entirely sure if Ed Hunter is the right sort of music for these three stories of mine- can anyone suggest any songs that might serve better?_


	29. Chapter 29

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** okay; sorry that this chapter took so long to get up, but there were some things I had to do. So far, I've only had a few votes and those were for Albion- lucky you've got two to three more chapters to vote on Ranma's oceanic destination. Oh, and by the way; Harrigan did meet Khaardun, but he didn't get possessed by him- he was "ordained" as one of the Shadowlord's Dark Magistrates. Or was it Dark Magisters? I can't remember… anyway, he's now an official Sorcerer-Champion of Chaos, and he will be coming back for Ranma. Possibly. If people want him to return that is.

Chapter 29: Return to Nerima, Part 1

"Tracks're fresh. Dey went dat way." Forna said, pointing to emphasise her words. Ranma, currently perched nonchalantly in the branches of a tree nearby, chose not to comment on the fact that several hundred Greenskins all heading in the same direction left a pretty obvious trail. Instead, he simply stretched luxuriantly before leaping to another tree. It was several days since the small group had "departed" Mordheim, and now they were attempting to reunite with the rest of the Fikskulls- a task that wasn't as easy as you might suspect.

A group the size of the Fikskulls couldn't stay in one place for long without stripping it bare, so Ranma had give the Fikskulls the "authorisation" to move camp on their own whilst he was away. As a consequence, when they'd left Mordheim they hadn't been able to head for the Fikskulls, but rather for the place where they had last seen them. Still, a small group like theirs could easily travel faster than the Fikskulls- especially because the Fikskulls had been growing in Ranma's absence. During their trek, they'd come across scenes that had clearly played host to battles- the Fikskulls had evidently been subjugating any of the local Greenskin tribes they encountered, much to Ranma's pride.

Of course, the Fikskulls would have been growing anyway; as Forna had told Ranma, it was more than likely that a good proportion of the females of the tribe were pregnant by now. And with a gestation period of only six months –half that for Goblins, who bore litters of up to eighteen– that meant that the tribe would grow quite rapidly if given the chance. Of course, there were still all the negative vectors like battle, miscarriage, stillbirths etcetera, but the end figure of offspring would undoubtedly be quite impressive. But such things were far from Ranma's mind as he lazily reclined himself upon a particularly sturdy branch, looking for all the world as though he didn't have the slightest care.

"Boss? Shouldn't we get going?"

"What's yer hurry? It's a nice, peaceful day; the sun's shining, the birds're singing and absolutely nothing could go wrong."

The final syllables had no sooner left Ranma's mouth than a bolt of energy suddenly blasted him out of the tree and he landed face-first upon the ground. The others immediately took up battle-ready stances and hurried to regroup around their fallen leader.

"Yoo alright?" Forna asked, scanning the undergrowth for signs of whoever or whatever had just attacked them.

"My ego needs mouth-ta-mouth, but I'll live." Ranma replied, pulling himself to his feet. He shivered as a sudden insane giggle drifted into the air –it was almost as creepy as Kodachi's laugh– followed by five repulsive figures suddenly erupting from the undergrowth, darting across the ground to surround Ranma and his companions. They looked something like obese demonic orangutans, shaggy gore-red fur crawling with bloated insectile vermin and mattered with clots of blood, putrefying flesh and filth. They grunted heavily, thick ropes of saliva drooling between jutting tusks, rheumy eyes glaring hatefully at them.

They didn't attack immediately though, they simply began circling the group in a manner reminiscent of a pack of sharks, grunting and gnashing their tusks as they moved. Ranma and his comrades eyed the circling creatures warily; the way they moved suggested that there was plenty of muscle beneath that fat, and even if there weren't their sheer mass would still make them dangerous. That freakish cackle rang out again, and a cloud of sulfurous yellow smoke suddenly billowed from the ground.

When it faded, a figure stood before them; an old man, partially balding but with the rest of his silver hair grown long and tangled. His clothing, the somewhat stereotypical robes of a "classic" wizard, was stained with all manner of filth. With the exception of his eyes, which were currently rolling in opposite directions to each other, there was nothing about him that was intimidating in the slightest. Which made Forna's reaction to his appearance all the more confusing; she had been staring at the creatures before with her normal expression of confident hostility, but the appearance of this strange human seemed to have thrown her into a panic. Ranma would have asked what the problem was but, before he could think of what to say or how to do so without making himself vulnerable to attack, the stranger laughed again and began to speak.

"At last I've found you… tsk, tsk, tsk; naughty girl, did you really believe you could escape from me forever?"

"Yoo c'mere 'n' I'll split yer skull wit dis axe!" Forna snarled in equal parts fury and fear, brandishing the weapon as though hoping it would ward the wizard off in the manner of a cross or garlic brandished against a vampire. Ranma looked back and forth between the two as the wizard simply laughed again.

"Spirited! But come now child; it's time to take you back to the laboratory…"

"I'z never gonna come wit yoo!"

The pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place for Ranma and he snapped his fingers triumphantly, this coupled with his current words attracting the attention of those present.

"Now I get it! Yer the one that made her!"

"It speaks… how amusing. You are correct though; I am Sigurd, and she is my creation. I will be taking her back now- she's had long enough to develop, and it's time for the next phase of the experiment."

"You take her over my dead body!" Ranma snarled, brandishing Gitzduffd's staff. Sigurd simply chuckled and shook his head softly.

"As you wish… kill them! But leave the female unharmed."

The monsters roared and lunged towards the group as one, apparently intending to overwhelm them with the swiftness of their assault and anticipating a quick and easy kill. They were sorely disappointed; Ranma and his companions were all battle-hardened veterans of numerous bloody battle- these creatures didn't stand a chance. Even Doctor Overntoppen, the newest member to the group, had nerves of steel, an iron will and lightning fast reflexes, which he proved by easily placing two shots almost simultaneously into one ape-beast's heart, the impact knocking it backwards. It lay sprawled on the ground, twitching for a few seconds, and then slowly rolled itself over and began pushing itself off the ground. Two more shots blasted into the back of its skull, twin craters opening in its gnarled forehead as blood, cerebral fluid, brain slivers and bone fragments erupting into the air.

Ranma didn't bother to dirty his hands on the ape-thing lunging at him, instead simply ducking beneath its swiping claws and bringing up the pointed end of his staff whilst he did so. The creature's own momentum caused it to eviscerate and then impale itself, Ranma then brought the staff whipping around still further to fling the gutted beast over his head, the blood and organs raining down around him going unnoticed as he launched himself in a neck-crushing flying kick at a second beast. As the other two creatures were promptly dispatched, Ranma sent a triumphant smirk in the direction of Sigurd, whose expression was a mixture of intrigue, fury, horror and disbelief.

"Don't think this is over you… you… whore in man's clothing!"

"Whatcha call me!" Ranma howled in fury, launching himself at Sigurd, who promptly disappeared in a cloud of choking yellow smoke. As Ranma coughed and spluttered from a combination of rage and a lungful of sulfurous fumes, Urbari extracted his axe from his opponent's skull and cautiously walked over to his… well, technically, leader.

"So what do we do now?"

"Do? Whadda we do? I'll tell ya what we'z gonna do! We'z gonna find da Fikskulls, and then we'z gonna find that bastard, and I'z gonna rip out his windpipe and beat him ta death with da tonsil end! Ain't nobody gets away with calling me that!"

True to his word, the group had to race to keep up with Ranma as he darted off in search of his tribe, so furious he was ready and willing to rally them to avenge an insult to him. Not that they'd probably blame him; none of those who'd been there did. They did wish he'd slow down though- a wish that wasn't to be granted; as they grew more and more exhausted, Ranma seemed to hasten himself, as though he was literally absorbing the energy they were losing. Finally, they had to stop or risk collapsing from exhaustion, whilst Ranma disappeared off into the distance.

Eventually, after about an hour's travelling, they made it to the current Fikskull camp. Much to their surprise, even though Ranma had undoubtedly made it back long before any of them the camp wasn't getting ready to start travelling again. However, it didn't take long for them to realise that a large proportion –all right, pretty much the entire camp– was arranged in a roughly circular mass. Rather than try and squeeze their way through the crush of muscular green bodies to find out what was so interesting, they decided instead to try asking one of the few Greenskins not part of the crush. As luck would have it, they ran right into Bork.

"What's going on?"

"Huh? Oh, wondered when yooz woz gonna git back. Da boss showed up a while ago- problem is some ov da new boyz didn't take fings so good. Boss's gotta straighten 'em out."

As one the veteran members of Ranma's force shook their heads softly in sympathy; they knew how Ranma "educated" challengers and dissidents and with the mood he was in… still, at least this way Ranma would hopefully work off a bit of aggression so he could start thinking clearer.

It had taken a few hours, but finally order was settled and the Fikskulls could get moving. Quite naturally, the Greenskins had been outraged that "some mouldy git" would dare to insult THEIR Warboss, and had rallied around him to avenge the insult. At least, they claimed to be outraged- Ranma was still sure that their motivation was more desire to avoid ticking him off by refusing than anything else, but so long as Sigurd died, who cared what their motives were? Forna, currently seated behind Ranma on Shirotaka's back, was leading him to Sigurd's lair, and he in turn was leading the Fikskulls to raze it to the ground. And that would probably be pretty easy; the Fikskulls had really grown in Ranma's absence. Ranma's tribe now consisted of: 310 Common Orcs, 480 Common Goblins, 40 Night Goblins, 6 Common Trolls, 20 Skaven Clanrats, 25 Goblin Wolf Riders, 15 Forest Goblin Spider Riders, 1 Night Goblin Shaman, 1 Giant, Urbari, Forna, Doctor Overntoppen, Squee and his Deff Kart, Shirotaka and Ranma himself. Quite the force.

"There! That's the place!"

"I kinda figured that out fer myself." Ranma mumbled, his gaze fixated on the crumbling, dilapidated ruin below him. Evidently built as some manner of fortress, the place was in seriously bad shape; the towers were leaning so far over it was wonder that they hadn't simply fallen onto the ground yet, and even from here Ranma could see that various forms of plants had colonised the crumbling walls. Ranma smirked; the place looked like Squee could pull it down. The Fikskulls would flatten it like a daisy in the path of a steamroller. He craned his neck to look at Forna.

"There any special defences there?"

"Whatcha mean?"

"Is something nasty gonna happen if we gets too close? Is fire gonna start raining from the sky? Is the ground gonna try an' suck us under? Are our clothes gonna turn to lime jelly?"

"No… and lime jelly?"

"…Shut up. Alright you lot; CHARGE!"

"WAAAGH!"

Around a thousand armed warriors broke into a full-pelt charge towards the ruined castle, ready and willing to tear it down about its owner's ears and stomp the rubble into dust. It was really hard to say who was more surprised when they literally screeched to a halt as though they'd suddenly run face-first into some kind of invisible wall. As Ranma blinked in disbelief at the massive pile-up below, the all-too-familiar cackle of Sigurd suddenly rumbled through the air with the volume of a thunderclap. Ranma looked back towards the castle and, sure enough, the deranged wizard was now perched on the roof of the tallest castle. Ranma couldn't quite make out his facial features, but he was sure that the crackpot was grinning ear to ear. Sigurd cupped his hands to his mouth and spoke, some manner of enchantment broadcasting his voice for all to hear.

"How do you like my shield spell? I knew an uncultured brute like you would come for vengeance, so I crafted it especially. Nothing less than the Rod of Siege Breaking could pierce that barrier! So why don't you just leave now and go back to the life of a normal woman? Find a man, settle down, and start having children!"

Ranma's response cannot be typed here, on grounds of being offensive, physically impossible and outlawed in at least seventeen countries.

Night was gently falling on the Fikskull campsite. Greenskins bustled about the place, doing all of the various things that needed to be done and occasionally stopping to throw dirty looks at the near-ruined castle a good half a mile away. Ranma himself was busily engaged with discussing how to break through the forcefield with his two occultic advisors; Wiggit and Gitzduffd.

"So ya can't think of any way to bust that stupid spell of his?" Ranma asked, a faint hint of pleading in his tone. Wiggit shook her head, and Ranma sighed heavily. This was when Gitzduffd spoke up.

"_He did mention dat da Rod ov Siege Breakin' could bust his spell, didn't he?"_

"Yeah, he did. But what is it?"

_"…Dere's an old legend, about a mad wizard who made lotz a' weird fings. Da Rod ov Siege Breakin' woz da wun fing he made dat actually worked da way he wanted; it could bust any barrier, magic or real. Pity he lost it though."_

"How d'ya lose something like that?"

_"Da story is he conjured up somefing… somefing nasty. Dis ugly liddle old man wit catfish whiskers an' big eyes…"_

Ranma narrowed his own eyes; no, it couldn't be. Could it? He swallowed his indecision and decided to ask.

"This creature- did it crave women's underwear?"

_"Yeah, it did- how'd ya know? Supposedly, dis fing nicked da Rod an' then vanished back ta whatever hell it crawled out ov…"_

Gitzduffd trailed off and Wiggit stared in surprise as Ranma suddenly began to laugh, a rather ugly and bitter laugh. The Night Goblin Shaman finally mastered her nerves.

"Boss? What'z so funny?"

"The irony, that's what. Y'see; I know where the Rod is now. It's back on my world. And there ain't no way ta get back there!"

_"I wudn't say dat. If'n ya letz me 'n' Wiggit talk for a while, we can work out a spell that'll let ya go back- not fer long though. From what yoo've told me, I doubt we'll be able to keep the portal runnin' fer more'n tree dayz."_

"No problem there- I ain't got no reason ta stay there. Not anymore."

_"I suggest ya take dis time ta figure out who'z gonna go wit ya. I mean, yer probably gonna need some help."_

"That's easy; Forna and Urbari."

"Why them?" the Shamans asked simultaneously.

"They blend in- something the rest of ya don't. They'll think Forna is just some girl with her skin painted green or wearing some sorta costume. And Urbari… well, whichever world you're in, Urbari's just a hairy midget."

From somewhere in the camp rose Urbari's voice.

"For the last bloody time… I am not a bloody midget!"

_Okay, that chapter's done. In the next chapter, our intrepid trio take a trip back to where it all began; Nerima, Tokyo! Whilst Ranma intends to only go back, grab the Rod of Seige Breaking from Happosai and skedaddle back to the Fikskulls, when has one of Ranma's plans involving him in Nerima ever gone to plan? Please read and review- and when you review, please give me some ideas for chaos to have Ranma's "homecoming" cause!_


	30. Chapter 30

WAAAGH Ranma! 

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated._

**Author's Notes:** okay now, I'm apologising in advance for the length of this chapter- but I really need some input from you readers before I can finish this "arc", so think of this chapter as being more of an interlude. See the endnotes for details on what help I need. In addition, to those who asked how/why Sigurd called Ranma a girl; basically, Sigurd can "see" Ranma's curse and the precise form he takes- I just forgot/couldn't figure out a way to explain that in story. Also, I'm proud to announce that Gideon020 and I are co-authoring a new Ranma ½ story– and for once it's not a crossover. More details will be released as they become available.

Chapter 30: Return to Nerima, Part 2

In a little-ventured back alley of Nerima, the air began to ripple and writhe, as though the very fabric of space and time were being ripped asunder. As a matter of fact, this was indeed the case and, with a final surge of anti-physics, the very fabric of reality was rent apart, creating a shimmering distortion of brilliant emerald green light. From this distortion, three figures of differing height were promptly ejected unceremoniously, like distasteful morsels spat from some inhuman mouth, before the rift sealed itself again. All was silent for a heartbeat, before a trio of groans split the still air. Ranma, Forna and Urbari all rose unsteadily to their feet- Ranma was the only one of them with prior experience in travelling between dimensions, and this journey had been both shorter and a lot less pleasant than the previous one. As evidenced by the way Forna finally lost control of her stomach and started puking in a nearby empty trashcan, and even Urbari looked queasy.

"If that isn't the absolute lousiest way to travel, I'll eat my helmet."

"Quit complaining; at least you didn't fall from the sky and land on your head. Then again, that was kinda normal for me…" Ranma mused, trailing off as Urbari simply shook his head and mouthed a silent plea to the Ancestor-Gods. Forna finally finished retching and wiped her mouth clean before turning to Ranma.

"So now what're we gonna do?"

"Well… from what Wiggit 'n' Urbari said; we've only got three days here. After that, the spells they're using to keep an eye on us and to keep a pathway between the two worlds will die. We'll be stuck here forever. Now, the old lech normally hides out at the Tendo Dojo; even if he ain't there himself, that's probably where he stashed the Rod. And if he is there and the Rod isn't, well, we can just beat the snot out of the disgusting little freak until he tells us where the Rod is."

"And what if he's lost it, or it's been destroyed?" Urbari pointed out. Ranma looked grim.

"If he lost it, then we'll try to find it. If we fail, then we'll have to go back empty-handed. Now let's get going- and keep to the shadows. The last thing we need are the usual mob of empty-heads slowing us down."

With that said, the trio set out. Caution came somewhat naturally; they'd had a good deal of practise in the arts of stealth during their time in Mordheim, and Urbari and Forna were both unnerved by their surroundings despite Ranma's best attempts to prepare them to what they were about to face. Ranma himself was unnerved- after all, he had been absent from Nerima for quite some time, and thoroughly adjusted to his life amongst the Fikskulls. But still, he had a goal and he would not allow anything to stand in his way. They actually made good progress, moving through the shadows and darkened alleyways, evading the staring eyes of the curious and heading unstoppably towards the Tendo Dojo. They were just tentatively creeping through the edges of the park when they had their first encounter with the Nerima Wrecking Crew.

"Cur! Bounder! Vile spawn of darkness! Your illicit liaison with my darling twisted sister shall continue no longer!"

"Go howl at the moon ya lunatic!"

Kuno –actually wielding a genuine steel blade instead of his normal bokken– did indeed howl with fury, before lunging towards Ryoga with his weapon. Ignorant of the fact that they were being watched, they battled savagely, umbrella and katana clashing against each other until Ryoga finally made a strike that swatted Kuno's weapon from his hand. The deranged rich boy was promptly launched into Lower Earth Orbit by Ryoga's capable foot. As Ranma wondered why Kuno and Ryoga had been fighting –that sort of thing rarely happened unless they were arguing over either Akane or over which one of them would defeat him– and what the hell Kuno had been talking about his sister for, Forna and Urbari followed Kuno's ascension into the sky with admiration. The tranquillity was promptly shattered by Kodachi's trademark maniacal laughter, which stood near the top of Ranma's "reasons I don't miss Nerima" list. Urbari and Forna, who lacked Ranma's resistance to it, were torn between cringing and staring as Kodachi promptly dropped from the sky above to land before Ryoga and –much to Ranma's disbelief– embrace him.

"That was wonderful Ryoga-darling!"

"Ryoga-darling?" Ranma mouthed in disbelief. Ryoga opened his mouth, presumably to say something, but whatever it might have been was cut off as Kodachi's lips clamped around his own with the speed of a striking serpent. For an instant, Ranma wondered why two of the Nerima Wrecking Crew who'd never had anything to do with each other before (in his experience anyway) were making out. Then, the moment passed and the creepiness of the situation sunk in. As well as the fact that Kodachi was beginning to peel off Ryoga's clothes- and that Ryoga was returning the favour. Ranma promptly decided that seeing Ryoga and Kodachi making the two-backed beast in the middle of the park was the last thing that he needed to see, and he and the others quickly left the two "lovers" to their privacy. A pity they neglected to block their ears but, on the plus side, their rush to escape did mean they covered about three miles in a minute.

"What the hell was all that?"

"How should I know? I haven't been here for- well I don't know how long I've been gone from this place! As far as I knew, those two didn't even know each other!" Forna decided it was best to interject now before Ranma –who looked rather cute when he was flustered, as a very small but impudent portion of her mind pointed out– said or did something he'd regret later.

"How far iz we from da Tendo Dojo?" she asked. This broke Ranma's attention from Urbari and he quickly began examining their surrounds and comparing it to his –admittedly somewhat rusty– mental map.

"Not far actually… maybe two, three blocks? Four tops… hey, didja hear that? Hide!"

The trio promptly dove for cover as a new figure emerged from a side-road. A young girl with short brown hair. She laughed happily and waved at someone still unseen by the watching trio.

"Come on Mousse-kun! Hurry or we'll miss out!"

"I'm coming Akane-chan; wait for me!"

Akane? Forna thought. So this was Ranma's most infamous fiancée! She wondered at the inexplicable tiny stab of jealously that suddenly pierced her, but ignored it in favour of watching as a tall boy with a long mane of black hair quickly hurried up to Akane and, hand in hand, they walked away. Only after the couple had disappeared did the two Orcs and Dwarf –well, technically an honorary Orc, a mutant Orc and a Dwarf– step out of hiding. Forna and Urbari were both concerned by the expression on Ranma's face, a peculiar mixture of surprise, curiosity and several others they couldn't identify. As they debated whether or not to say something, Ranma spoke first.

"Mousse-kun? Akane-CHAN? What the zog is goin' on here! Ryoga and Kuno are at each other's throats, Ryoga and Kodachi are apparently rutting like horny bunnies in spring and Mousse and Akane are dating? Has this world gone completely insane!"

Forna wanted to say something to distract him, but all she could think of was the expression on his face made him look like someone had just told him that Fergee had gotten himself a Giant-sized tutu and was dancing ballet. Then her mind seemed to register what she had just thought and, lo and behold, that very image began to play out before her minds eye. She was so caught up in watching the horrifically fascinating mental image that she failed to notice Ranma and Urbari were both staring at her until Ranma's hand cautiously touched her shoulder.

"You alright? What happened? You just drifted off."

"I saw somethin' I shouldn't've."

"Like what?"

"Fergee in a tutu dancing ballet."

Ranma and Urbari's expressions made it perfectly clear what they thought of her saying something like that. At least they didn't actually say anything in the several minutes it took for Ranma to finally shake his head and lead them onward. Finally, they reached their destination; the Tendo Dojo. The lair of the perverted beast. As Ranma's goal was to avoid being detected by the people he used to know, he led Forna and Urbari around to the back of the dojo rather than through the front gate. Forna looked up at the wall, and then looked at Urbari with a speculative gleam in her eyes. Urbari quickly brought his axe up in a defensive stance.

"Forget it! There is no way I'm letting you toss me over those walls!"

"Whatcha suggest then? I ain't got a grapplin' hook!"

"We could just use the door."

"Huh?"

Ranma idly tapped the back door he was leaning against with his knuckles, drawing the Orc and the Dwarf's eyes to it. He smirked at them, and then gently opened it so as to avoid it creaking. The trio moved as quickly and silently as they could through the backyard- the guest room that Happosai had commandeered for himself was on the ground floor, so that was one thing in their favour. Ranma gently slid the exterior doors aside, and grinned coldly as he was rewarded with the sight of Happosai snoozing upon a mound of lingerie. He gestured the others inside, and softly closed the door after they had gotten in before stalking over to crouch down beside Happosai.

"Wakey-wakey ya old freak…" he stage-whispered in Happosai's ear. The tricentenarian hentai addict's eyes slowly creaked open, then shot open as he realised both that someone was standing beside him in his private chambers and who that person was. His mouth opened, though what he would have said was unknown, but Ranma's hand clamped onto it like a vice, stifling the possibility of raising the alarm.

"We wants something from ya… so are we gonna do this the easy way, or the hard one?"

"Hey Saotome, how about a nice, relaxing game of Shogi?" asked Soun hopefully. His sole response was a doleful grunt that wouldn't have sounded out of place from Genma's cursed form, and he sighed softly. In the six weeks since Ranma had disappeared, Genma had become more and more withdrawn and morose. Soun just didn't know what he could do to snap his old friend out of it. He jumped at a sudden loud crash, and as further such sounds of battle followed on its trail he raced towards it, Genma and even Kasumi and Nabiki hot on his heels. Darting to Happosai's room, he flung open the doors.

"What's going on- here?!"

The jaws of Genma, Soun and both of the Tendo daughters present dropped as they took in the frozen tableau before them. There was Happosai, and two strangers none of them had ever seen before, but that wasn't important. Standing right there in full-view was none other than the long-lost Ranma Saotome. Both sides were dumbstruck, until finally Ranma broke the silence.

"Oh, shit."

_Okay, that's the interlude over. I mentioned in the author's notes I need help with some things, well, it's simple really. As was made clear (I hoped) in… chapter 8 I think it was, the Saotome/Tendo engagement has been transferred from Akane to one of her sisters. Please specific which sister you want me to have it transferred to. Secondly, the next chapter is intended to focus on the reactions of the NWC to Ranma's return- can you please suggest how the characters would react, and also some general ideas for "chaos" to have occur? Finally, I was intending to have Forna bring up the fact that, for Warbosses, a polygamous (one male, several females) relationship is the norm- and do so in hearing of Ranma's fiancées. If you think this is an idea I should go with, and that a number of the fiancée brigade (Shampoo, Ukyo and either Kasumi or Nabiki- depending on which people choose) should manage to follow Ranma back to the Fikskulls, then please specify so in your review. Not to mention specifying which fiancées you want me to have "follow" Ranma. Oh, and before anyone asks- I don't know how or why Forna would know about tutus and/or ballet either._


	31. Chapter 31

WAAAGH Ranma! 

Disclaimer: I do not own Ranma ½™ or Warhammer Fantasy Battle™ in any way, shape or form. Fan-art based on this series –and suggestion on how to represent Ranma and the Fikskulls in games of Warhammer- would be greatly appreciated.

**Author's Notes:** okay, just to point out, having Forna reveal that Greenskins are polygamous and having some of the old fiancée brigade were two separate ideas. Anyway, the feedback I got made me decide it'd be best not to bring in any of the "old gang".

Reviewer Phil; thank you for the compliment… that was a compliment, wasn't it? I'd appreciate if you could clarify it a little.

In sad news, this will be the second-last chapter of this story. My current decline in inspiration and, it must be said, interest in this story have forced me to conclude that it is best to finish it off now while there's still a chance I can do a half-way decent job of it. Don't worry though; I intend to write the ending so that I can always come back to this little universe of mine if I ever rediscover my inspiration. In addition, anyone who wants to write their own story set in this universe is welcome to do so, so long as you credit me with coming up with the original idea in the first place.

Chapter 31: Return to Nerima, Part 3

Both sides remained frozen for what felt like hours in shock, though in reality it was maybe closer to half a minute. Happosai, never one to turn down any opportunity, quickly seized advantage of this state of affairs to wriggle out of Forna's chokehold (emphasis on choke) and lunge for the door, even forgoing the opportunity to grab the she-Orc's breasts. Seeing him moving out of the corner his eye instantly snapped Ranma back to his senses.

"Oh no ya don't!"

Seizing the nearest available object, Urbari's axe, Ranma hurled the rune-inscribed weapon (as well as its owner, who'd failed to let go in time) at the elderly lech. Unfortunately, Ranma missed- perhaps because he'd failed to take the weight and drag of Urbari's body into account. The blade embedded itself deeply into the wood of the floor, while the cackling midget quickly darted from the dojo and over the wall into Nerima.

Ranma reacted as calmly as could be expected. Which means, in other words, that he started spewing curses even Forna was impressed with. Paying no attention to anyone else, he darted from the room in pursuit of the ancient pervert, his two loyal followers right on his heels. Well, after Forna helped Urbari wrench his axe free anyway. Behind them, they left a very confused trio of Tendos and a disbelieving Genma Saotome.

"D-did you just see…?" Soun asked hesitantly, turning towards Genma. He blinked when he realised that his old friend wasn't standing beside him, but leaping frantically over the walls in hot pursuit. He instinctively followed in Genma's footsteps, whilst his two daughters looked on in amazement- they'd seen the other martial artists perform such leaps before, but it was doubtful that even Kasumi had believed her father to still be able to perform such feats. They both paused for a minute, both silently debating whether or not to follow, and then finally decided to go with the flow. Besides, maybe that really was Ranma- and if it was, then that meant that things were about to go back to normal. Right?

"Come back here ya old fart!" Ranma hollered, so focused on chasing Happosai that he failed to notice the little following he'd picked up. Forna and Urbari, despite having no prior experience with roof-hopping and the fact the Dwarf's short legs meant that the she-Orc had to carry him, were doing a pretty good job of keeping up behind him. Behind them was Genma Saotome, with Soun Tendo doing his best to catch up. Kasumi and Nabiki had, thanks to Kasumi, managed to commandeer a scooter and were bringing up the rear on the ground. Somehow though, the convoy had grown to include Ryoga and Kodachi, both of whom were barely wearing any clothing, Shampoo, Ukyo and even Mousse and Akane. It might have been a mystery how they'd found him… other than the fact Ranma hadn't stopped spitting curses at the top of his Waaagh-trained lungs and Happosai had begun tossing his trademark Happo-Fire Burst bombs about in an attempt to 'persuade' Ranma to back off. Unfortunately for the ancient lecher, Ranma had once made the mistake of escorting a drunken Squee to his Deff Kart. Suffice to say that drunken Fire Kobolds and stockpiled explosives do not mix. Happosai's little firecrackers weren't going to scare Ranma off, especially not now.

Finally, Ranma managed to catch a bomb and toss it right back at Happosai as the old pervert was preparing another one. Distracted by catching a rather solid object moving at a rather impressive speed square in the face, Happosai was promptly engulfed by twin explosions, which blew him out of the air and right towards a suitably vacant lot. Ranma dove after him, intent on seizing whatever advantages he could get, while Forna slipped on the roof behind him and promptly caused a pile-up as the other roof-hoppers tripped over her. By the time they finally untangled themselves and made it back down to earth, Nabiki and Kasumi had already taken prime seats to watch as Ranma and Happosai faced off once again.

"C'mon ya old lech! Why d'ya always hafta be so damn stubborn? Jes' gimme that stupid rod an' I'll get outta ya hair! …What's left of it anyway." Ranma brought his leg around in a powerful sweeping kick, which Happosai effortlessly leapt over.

"How can I give you whatever it is you want when I don't know what it is you want?" Happosai retorted, using a Finger Block to nullify a right-cross aimed directly at his head.

"Don't play dumb with me!"

"Who's playing? You woke me up and then started laying into me without even hinting as to what you're after!" Happosai shot back. For a second, the only sound to be heard was the faint whistle of a sudden breeze. Then Ranma broke the silence.

"I didn't tell ya?"

"No."

"Well, do the words 'Rod of Siege Breakin' ring any bells?"

"Hmm… little ornamental mace-thing about so long? Looks like it couldn't mash butter?"

Ranma paused for a second, recalling the description his shamans had given him, and then nodded. Happosai snorted angrily.

"You mean you wrecked my room and chased me over half of town over that? Wait here and I'll get the useless thing- I would dumped it years ago, but it was the only momento I had of a lost love of mine."

Ranma decided not to bother with either of the obvious retorts that came to mind- if the old freak was actually willing to cut Ranma some slack and give him the artefact so that he could go home already, why should he risk pissing him off? Besides, the sooner he was back with the Fikskulls, the better. Unfortunately for Ranma, as he watched Happosai bound away into the horizon, he'd forgotten about one little thing. Namely, the audience he'd picked up. He was promptly reminded when Genma suddenly surged forward, catching his off-guard child in an embrace so fierce that Ranma's joints audibly popped and cracked.

"Ranma! You're back! Where on earth have you been- I've been so worried about you! Oof!"

Genma grunted in pain as Ranma's elbow was promptly applied to his lower torso, after which the younger martial artist squirmed free with the ease of long practise, pausing beyond arm's length and throwing a disdainful look back at his father.

"Yeah right, like I'll fall for that."

Genma looked more hurt and vulnerable at those words, spoken in that tone, than anyone had ever seen him look before. Even Ranma couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt, though he quickly choked it down by remembering all of the trouble Genma had caused him. He quickly forgot all about it as his former… neighbours, for lack of a better word, began crowding him, clustering about him whilst all the while trying to touch him, their speech running together into a meaningless babble until the overwhelmed Ranma leapt to his freedom, greatly startling the Nerima natives in the process. Perching upon the relative safety of a nearby rooftop, Forna and Urbari scrambling to stand before him on the ground below, Ranma simply stared down at the people he had once known, silent as the grave. They, in turn, stared back up at him, puzzlement and confusion readily visible upon their faces. It was Soun Tendo who finally broke the eerie silence.

"Is that really you, Ranma?"

"It was last time I checked." Ranma replied, at which Soun's face lit up in a massive grin.

"So you've come back at last? Wonderful! We didn't need that stupid ring after all!"

"…What ring?" Ranma asked, deciding not to admit he had no intention of making this stay anything other than both temporary and as short as possible. He blinked as all of the Nerimites present face-faulted, startling Forna and Urbari in the process. Mousse was the first to scramble back to his feet.

"Uh… you know… that wish-granting thing?" Mousse cautiously ventured.

"Oh, that thing. I'd forgotten all about it." Ranma replied nonchalantly, sending the Nerimites slamming back down onto the ground. Inside though, Ranma was far from being as calm as he looked. His position as Warboss had given him the necessary "encouragement" to develop his ability to mentally analyse situations, and right now his mind was working overtime. So they had the ring that had sent him to the Fikskulls… and given what Soun had just said… that meant… oh shit…

"Forna? Urbari?" Ranma said, in a slow, careful tone of voice. "I want ya'z ta do something fer me."

"What's that, boss?" Forna asked, looking up towards Ranma as she and Urbari unconsciously unsheathed their axes.

"Distract 'em!" Ranma shouted whilst simultaneously fleeing over the rooftops in the direction of the Cat Café, much to the shock of everyone down below. The Nerimites instinctively surged after him, but equally instinctively Forna and Urbari bull-rushed them, starting one of the most savage and indiscriminate brawls in Nerima's recent history. Ranma was oblivious to this however; all that mattered to him right now was getting that ring from Cologne (who else would they have trusted with it?). In the Cat Café, Cologne suddenly looked up, a solemn, strangely sad expression upon her face.

"Yo! Old ghoul! C'mon, I know yer here!" Ranma called. He dropped easily to the pavement in front of the Cat Café, arms folded across his chest and defiance written across his body. The restaurant's doors swung open softly, and Cologne gently and silently pogoed out to stand before him. Ranma was surprised; though Cologne wasn't exactly Miss Rural China, she had never looked so old and decrepit before. She stared at him, in a way Ranma couldn't recall her ever doing before; it was as though her eyes were piercing his very soul. Finally, she nodded once.

"So you have found a home of your own. A pity- you would have been a great addition to our tribe. You have come for the Ring of Chaos, yes?"

"Yeah…?" Ranma asked hesitantly.

"There is little point in my resisting. There is no place for you here anymore, much as it will break Shampoo's heart to hear that. I will give you the Ring… but may I ask one final request?"

"What?" Ranma's curiosity was piqued, even drowning out the portion of his brain whispering to watch out for betrayal. Cologne smiled sadly.

"May we have one final spar… for old times sake? I'd like to see just how far my former pupil has come."

A part of Ranma couldn't help but wonder what she meant by that "former pupil" bit, but for some strange reason he couldn't really find it in his heart to deny the old woman. After all, she had taught him many of the special techniques that now served him so well in his position as Warboss.

"Alright old- Cologne. One last battle."

Cologne nodded gratefully. The two stood there, both still as statues, for several seconds. Then, a breeze kicked up and whistled past them. At that familiar signal, both combatants exploded into action, becoming what an outside viewer would only be able to describe as a "blurred vortex", trading blows at inhuman speeds before settling back at opposite sides of the "arena". Ranma's expression was blank and completely neutral; that had been just a way to test the waters. Now would come the serious fighting- now would come the special attacks. He waited for Cologne to make the first move- he knew that the Kachu Tenshin Amaguriken and Hiryu Shoten Ha moves would be useless here, but fortunately he had a few new tricks of his own design up his sleeve. He wished he'd actually had more of a chance to practise them though…

"Splitting Cat Hairs!" Cologne shouted suddenly, invoking a move she had used during her and Ranma's first battle. It seemed strangely appropriate to use it during their last one. Ranma found himself surrounded by about twenty perfectly identical Colognes, who began spiralling around him, growing faster and faster. Ranma smirked- he'd beaten this technique the first time, and he wouldn't have to rely on trickery to beat it this time. Drawing upon his aura, he unleashed the first of his as-yet untested techniques.

"Green Bomb!" he shouted, thrusting his arms out to either side whilst he violently expelled his aura. A powerful, if short-ranged, explosion erupted forth, forcing Cologne to leap backwards to safety- and the resulting distraction caused her false images to dissipate. She just managed to see the expression on Ranma's face, a mixture of astonishment, relief and triumph, before the second phase of the technique came into action. A great cloud of what could only be described as green ashes gently and rapidly dropped from the air, swirling about Ranma until he and a good-sized area around him were completely obscured. Cologne smirked.

"Nice try, but a smokescreen isn't going to work on me."

She plunged into the ash-cloud, trusting that the ki senses she had honed over three centuries of experience would easily compensate for her physical blindness. Unfortunately for her, it turned out she would have been better relying on her physical senses; each and every single particle of "ash" was in fact a fragment of Ranma's own aura- which meant that, to her ki senses, Ranma was absolutely everywhere simultaneously. Luckily for her, her sense of hearing was still as sharp as ever, which meant that Ranma's attempt to sneak up behind her and launch a strike at her instant-unconsciousness pressure point simply resulted in her using a simple throw to seize his wrist and fling him from the aura-cloud. Ranma flipped around in mid-air and dug a claw-like hand into the ground to arrest his flight, his aura-cloud dissipating around the smiling Cologne.

"I see you've picked up a few new tricks Ranma."

"Ya ain't seen nothing yet! Tusker Charge!"

Digging his fingers deeper into the ground, Ranma suddenly exploded forward in a powerful and unbelievably quick charge. Cologne just barely managed to make out that Ranma's aura was moulded into some sort of shape before she struck out at him with her staff, though to her shock the blow that should have rattled even Ranma's brains simply glanced off him, as though it had struck armour. And then Ranma ploughed into her, and Cologne barely managed to avoid receiving the full brunt of the attack. As she leapt to safety, something lashed out at her, just barely missing her. As she touched down upon a nearby rooftop, and Ranma smashed into the Cat Café like a runaway tank, she noticed two things.

Firstly, the minimized impact she had received had been powerful enough that bruises were already forming upon her torso, though her own defences had prevented any cracked or broken ribs. Secondly, her left sleeve had been sheared neatly away, and it was perhaps this that shocked her the most. Her robes, the traditional garb of a Joketsuzoku Matriarch, had been woven from special spider silk, and reinforced as they were with Cologne's own ki they may as well have been woven from titanium. She looked stupidly at the shredded sleeve, as though it was just a trick of her eyes, so distracted she didn't even notice Ranma was standing behind her until he tapped her on the shoulder. Showing no shock –after all, he'd managed the exact same stunt during their first meeting– she turned to meet his gaze.

"So, are we gonna stand here or are we gonna finish it?"

"Not much point I'm afraid. Besides, you'll want to get out of here before your former fiancées and rivals track you down. Here- the ring, as I promised."

She flicked it out of a ki pocket, and Ranma caught it out of the air. He stared, first at it, then at her, for several long seconds before finally giving Cologne a formal bow (shocking her to the core) and leaping away, in the direction of the portal. Roughly half-way there, he met up with Forna and Urbari, both of them looking very battered and both giving him death glares.

"Dat woz a dirty trick Ranma." Forna growled. He simply shrugged his shoulders and gave her a sheepish grin in return. It was Urbari who spoke next.

"That disgusting… thing… showed up while we were fighting. We've got the rod- so can we go home now? Please?"

"Yeah- afore those pests catch us; we gave 'em a few bruises ta remember us by, but I don't think we slowed 'em down dat much."

"Gladly- I got what I was after, so let'z get outta here."

Finally reaching the back alley where they had first entered Nerima, the trio joined hands and began reciting the incantation Ranma's shamans had given them. Their hearts raced; this was a delicate operation, and none of them wanted to think about what might happen if the Nerima Wrecking Crew suddenly came charging onto the scene and disrupted it. And as the saying goes, speak of the devil… just as the trio finished the incantation and the portal shimmered into existence, the Nerimites came charging onto the scene. Ranma quickly turned and dove into the portal, Forna and Urbari right on his heels. Refusing to let their fiancé escape again, Ukyo and Shampoo dove into the dwindling portal as well, so intent on following him that they didn't even try to thwart each other. The portal slammed shut… and then snapped open again, spat out the two girls (coincidently leaving them entangled in a very… _'intimate'_ looking position) and vanished again.

Ranma was gone for good.

_The quality of this chapter shows why I'm finishing this story off. Still, an update's an update, and even if this is the second-to-last chapter for this story, it doesn't mean I'm giving up the writing schtick altogether. In fact, Gideon020 and I intend to begin cowriting some new Ranma ½ fanfiction once this story is finished. Hopefully you'll enjoy them as much as you've enjoyed this._


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